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Letters from An Old Time 
Salesman to His Son 


By R. L. JAMES 

General Sales Manager, Libby, McNeill & Libby 


Chicago and New York 
THE DARTNELL CORPORATION 

1922 


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Published by 


The Dartnell Corporation 


Dartnell Building 
Ravenswood and Leland Avenues 
Chicago, Illinois 

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All privileges of reproducing 
illustrations or letter press 
expressly reserved by the 
publishers 


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Copyright 1922 

in the United States, Canada and 
Great Britain 

R. L. JAMES 
Chicago 

Printed by The Dartnell Press 



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CONTENTS 

Page 

The Boy Starts Out—Green and Gullible but Full of “Pep” 9 

The Boy Writes That He Has Arrived as a “Regular” 

Salesman ........ 13 

The Boy Thinks the House Should Accept Cancellations 17 
The Boy Has Been Promoted to a “Special” Salesman. 21 

Dad Gives the Boy Some Sound Advice Regarding Team 

Work .|i.. 25 

The Boy Is Having His Troubles as a Branch Manager. 31 

Dad Tells the Boy Why It Pays to Advertise.. 37 

Dad Counsels the Boy to Throw Away His Knickers and 
Put on Long Pants ..... 43 

The Boy Has Begun to Solicit Dad’s Counsel . 49 

The Boy Has Told Dad of His Latest Pet “Peeve”. 55 

The Boy Has Met the Girl—He Sounds Dad Out on 

Matrimony...... 61 

The Boy Has Been Bragging a Little.„. 67 

Dad Warns of the Evil Spirit That Whispers “You 

Haven’t Time” ... 75 

The Boy is Given an Unfailing Formula for Landing a 

Bigger Job ...... 81 

Hal Is District Manager Now—His Problem Is Winning 

the Respect of Men ...... 87 

Dad Drops in on a Branch Manager and Fihds the Spirit 

of the Time ..... 93 

The Boy Gets a Chance to See Himself as Others See Him 99 

Dad Tips Off the Boy to a New Job...105 

Dad Gets a Lesson from a Trip to the Farm.Ill 

Dad Takes an Interest in the Boy’s Big Sales Contest..117 

Dad Surrenders When the Boy Lands the Big Job.123 






















The Story Behind These Letters 


IS 


>HE most refreshing thing about these letters 
is that they are real letters, written by a 
real salesman to a real son. Therein they 
differ from so many books of this character. There 
is a certain satisfaction in knowing that what you 
are reading was written by a man who has been 
through the mill. 


Another refreshing thing about these letters is 
that they were not written for publication. The 
motive behind them is an interesting one. Mr. James 
began his business career as a salesman, calling on 
the retail trade in small towns. Shortly after a son 
came to bless his home—a red-headed boy who was 
christened “Hal.” Like all men who make a success 
of their profession, Mr. James believed in his work 
and his dreams of the future for his son always 
pictured the boy as a traveling salesman. As the 
boy grew and developed traits of character, what 
was more natural than that his dad, who shared the 
boy's problems, should visualize his son with these 
same peculiar traits running afoul of the same pit- 
falls and snags that beset the path of every young 
man in sales work? What was more natural than 
that he should try to impart to his boy the secrets 
of his success as a salesman and manager of sales¬ 
men, so that the son might use the father's achieve¬ 
ment as a short cut ? 


Through some underground avenue, best known 
to himself, it came to the attention of the editor of 
the Libby house-organ that Mr. James—then a de¬ 
partment manager—was writing a series of most 
interesting human letters to his boy. After much 
persuasion Mr. James agreed to the anonymous 
publication of these letters — with deletions of a 
personal character—in the Libby salesman’s bulle¬ 
tin. For two years the letters of an old time salesman 
to his son were the most eagerly read feature of one 
of the most readable of salesmen’s publications. 

After the letters had run the gamut from sales¬ 
man to general sales manager, during the writing of 
which the author himself had risen to the position 
of General Sales Manager of his Company, they 
came to an end. That they had exerted a powerful 
influence in moulding the character of every Libby 
salesman there can be no question. No man could 
read the letters without being the better for having 
done so. And I feel that Mr. James in permitting 
the publication of them in book form, so that the 
message they carry may be spread out beyond the 
limited confines of the Libby organization and con¬ 
veyed to every man who sells things, has taken a big 
step toward fulfilling the obligation which every 
man owes to his profession. If every salesman could 
read this book it would do more for the cause of 
better, cleaner salesmanship than any other one 
thing. 


J. C. Aspley, 

Editor, “Sales Management Magazine .’ 


THE TRAVELING MAN 




How many of you remember the golden days of yore 

When you were an uncouth urchin hanging ’round the village store, 

When the loafers saved the country—changed the tariff every day 
’Mid the fumes of various mixtures of tobacco-labeled hay, 

How you forgot the colored candies and the tempting cookie can 

When the door was quickly opened and in walked the Traveling Man. 

’Member how some way or other conversation seemed to stop, 

When he opened up his samples and your eyes would fairly pop 

At experiences he related as he took his order down, 

Talked about a three-ring circus—he was better than a clown, 

How you wondered and you worshiped and resolved to break each ban 
That would keep you from becoming, some day too, a Traveling Man. 

Never seemed he ever worried, life to him was always bright 

For you’d seen him in the morning and you’d seen him late at night: 

Altho’ he was always working you could always see his smile 

Wasn’t put on—just came natural, catchy, bubbling all the while; 

You resolved to be just like him, now deny it if you can, 

Your day dreams were filled with longing just to be a Traveling Man. 

Years have passed—you’ve lived to see all your boyhood dreams come true 
And now you’re doing daily all the things he used to do; 

Now you know he had his troubles which he smiled thru right along, 

But it makes your memory dearer—that his life was not all song; 

And like him you keep a-hustling, glad that you have joined the clan 
That begets true admiration—Here’s to you, A Traveling Man! 


—R. L. James 



The Bop Starts Out—Green and Gullible 
But Full of Pep 

Dear Hal: 

Your letter written as you had just finished your 
first week as a cub salesman was received and 
I’ve enjoyed reading it over, two or three times, be¬ 
cause it brings out the fact that after all, the game 
doesn’t change a great deal in fundamentals since 
the time I used to beat the brush. 

I notice that you’re impressed with the fact that 
it was pretty easy for the regular salesman Ryan to 
sell goods, and that you think he’s a wonderful sales¬ 
man. Now, of course, I never met Ryan and I don’t 
doubt from what you say that he is fairly popular 
with the trade, knows the line and is a hard worker, 
but from some of the things you say, I’m not exactly 
sure that Ryan is the man who wrote the first book 
on salesmanship, but, of course, I may be mistaken. 
With all due respect to Ryan, you must remember 
that your company was manufacturing and market¬ 
ing food products long before Ryan was strong 
enough to shake a rattle. 

Now, I’m not trying to belittle the honest sales 
effort of yourself or your friend Ryan in the least, 


9 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

but I just want to be sure that you appreciate the 
fact that your success last week wasn’t due 100 per 
cent to the siren voice of your salesmanship, but 
that a great big piece of credit was due to the solid 
foundation on which you were building your sales. 

I notice you sort of “bragged” over the fact that 
you sold only the best merchants in each town and 
those who were capable of giving orders worth 
while. If I had to take my choice between five nice 
new ten dollar bills and five old ragged ones, why, 
of course, I’d choose the crinkly kind, but if there 
wasn’t any law against my getting both piles, I 
don’t think I’d be so particular, because it has been 
my experience that the ragged ones can be changed 
into just as many dimes and quarters as the new 
ones, and either one is acceptable to the receiving 
teller when you pass the little black book under the 
wicket on Saturday. 

Now the matter of choice in selling retailers is 
just the same. With a line like your company has, 
in the first place you should attempt to place it in a 
big way in the best stores in the town, but there isn’t 
any game law against selling it to the little fellow 
around the corner, is there? Nobody in “the house” 
ever told you to beware of selling the small mer¬ 
chant, did they? You bet they didn’t! In fact, every 
successful business has been founded on the small 
customer, who afterward grew into the big one. You 
know when Marshall Field first started in business 


10 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

his store didn't cover a city block, but I suppose 
there were some two and three-quarters per cent 
salesmen in those days who thought Field’s business 
was too small to bother with, but if any of those 
salesmen are still living you can probably find them 
now acting as a nurse-girl to a wheezy taxicab. 

Notice you say Ryan told you the reason he didn’t 
call on some merchants was because there was no 
use — they couldn’t be sold. I’ll never forget, the 
fellow who broke me in as a salesman told me the 
same thing my first week as we were getting off a 
train in a little Missouri town that had only two 
stores in it. He said that the one customer we sold 
there was the much better merchant of the two and it 
was no use to go near the other one. 

Well, I believed him, and made my one call in the 
town regularly and received the one order and 
thought I was doing pretty well until one day, when 
I called, my customer informed me that he had just 
sold out to the other merchant across the street and 
that henceforth there would be only one store there. 

Of course, I went over and tried to sell the 
other fellow, but he naturally wondered why I’d 
never called before and I didn’t have any very good 
answer. The result was that I was beaten by my 
own stupidity and I had to call on that fellow for 
six months before I ever scratched an order book. 

Now that is only one of many instances I could 
tell you, but I’ve found that there is one thing that, 


ll 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


as a salesman, you must never take another man’s 
word for and that is that So-and-So across the 
street, or around the corner, will not buy. I’ve 
always found it a safe rule to call on every man who 
had his door unlocked and the worst thing that ever 
happened to me in applying the rule, was to get an 
occasional turn-down, while I have had the surprise 
of my life many times, to see what big orders you 
could get out of a little store. 

The longer you sell goods, the more you’ll realize 
that it’s a battle from start to finish, but just take it 
from the old man that you’ll have more luck captur¬ 
ing an increase in salary at the end of the year with 
a whole army of little dough-boy customers on your 
list than you will by trying to impress the boss with 
a giant named Goliath who is a single-footer. 

Your loving, 

“DAD.” 


12 


The Boy Writes That He Has Arrived as a 
“Regular” Salesman 

Dear Iial:— 

Your mother and I have just finished reading 
your last letter, and while I realize that you may be 
getting pretty well fed up on my letters, I cannot 
help commenting on some of the things you have 
written about. 

I imagine it is just about as much fun for you to 
get one of my letters as holding a horse in a rain. 
You probably look on them as containing the pro¬ 
verbial “good advice.” I can almost hear you saying 
more men have starved to death on good advice than 
were ever killed on the field of battle. 

All of that I'll admit, but words from an old trav¬ 
eler of the road you’ve just started on is a good deal 
like castor oil—you kick up a lot of fuss if you have 
to take it when you’re young, but as you grow older 
you realize that it didn’t hurt you a bit and in most 
cases prolonged the life of your “engine.” 

I notice that you have gone just far enough in the 
selling game to discover that your goods are higher 
priced than every competitor’s; the merchants over- 


13 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


loaded; business on the bum; the office manager a 
crab; the credit man hard-boiled and the plant 
unappreciative of what a salesman is up against. 

Well—now, isn’t that just too bad! But doesn’t 
it occur to you that with everything so badly messed 
up, it is strange that the firm continues to worry 
along and pay dividends on its stock, year after 
year? Of course, the buyer tells you your prices are 
too high — otherwise he wouldn’t be the buyer, but 
would more probably be rolling barrels of salt 
around in the basement for a living — you don’t 
expect him to ask you to add a little to the price, 
do you? And man alive!—if the goods would sell 
themselves your company could replace you with a 
post-card. 

Last, but not least, they thought best to hire a 
1922 model eight-cylinder salesman, like you (you 
scamp) instead of trying to get by with a two- 
cylinder flivver that isn’t a self-starter. 

Business is bum, eh? I’m sorry you told me be¬ 
cause that’s the cry of the quitter and I hate to 
think you would make a phonograph record of your¬ 
self. Business is bad for some people all the time 
and similarly, business is good for others most of 
the time. Now I’m willing to admit, understand, 
that there are business lulls in all lines, but if you’ll 
trace back the origin of that expression, I’ll wager 
you’ll And the thought was first expressed by one of 
those hotel lobby lizards who got used to the buyer 


14 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

hunting him up during the recent period of big de¬ 
mand and small supply. To the fellow who really 
loves the game (and if you don't you shouldn't be 
in it) the changed conditions, or the lull, if you 
prefer that name, only means more “turndowns” 
which can be overcome by “more calls” and at the end 
of the day, he finds he's been too busy to notice that 
lull and his order-book may reflect smaller orders, 
but gee—he's got a lot of 'em! 

And the Office Manager's a crab; and the credit 
man hardboiled;—well now, what do you think of 
that! Of course, the Office Manager should be a 
mind-reader and overlook it v/hen you send in claims 
without the proper information, or reports only 
half-filled out, but somehow or other he isn't—no, 
he's just human like all the rest of us—has a lot to 
do and the company don’t pay him for “guessing” 
at things you do. 

The credit man is another good friend and a sales¬ 
man's safety valve. Both of'em are the easiest men in 
the world to get popular with, but you have to do 
your share and come clean. Sloppy reports and incor¬ 
rect information may be the easiest way out for the 
moment, but they never fool these “watch dogs of the 
exchequer,” and after all, if it were not for them, 
your pay check wouldn’t come out so regularly. 

Now you're wrong again, when you think the plant 
superintendent doesn't appreciate your problems. 
He gives them really more thought than you do, for 


15 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


you have only one house to work with, while he has 
to try to answer the demands of six hundred 
salesmen. 

Now, Old Top, I expect you think I have stepped 
on you pretty hard in this letter, but I haven’t in¬ 
tended to. If you weren’t my own boy, I imagine I’d 
expect less of you, but it’s pretty hard for the old 
man, knowing that a great big red-headed human 
dynamo, with hair on his upper lip, would bear even 
the earmarks of a whiner, not to appeal to your bet¬ 
ter judgment by making fun of the petty trials that 
every red-blooded salesman has gone through and 
graduated from, just like you got over the nursing 
bottle, measles and mumps. 

But, anyway—read this letter twice, then remem¬ 
ber, I’m laying a little bet on you and am anxious to 
get your next letter. 

Your loving 

“DAD.” 


16 


The Boy Things the House Should 
jdccept Cancellations 

Dear Hal: 

For the past few months I have allowed your 
mother to do all the letter-writing from this end; in 
fact, Mother has become a pretty important factor 
around here since she has been given the vote. She 
insists that the home be in her name and my insur¬ 
ance in her name, so I’ve consented, and further 
allowed her to carry my religion in her name. 

My chief reason for not writing sooner is that I 
wanted to wait until you had graduated into a “job¬ 
bing” salesman, because I knew you would even¬ 
tually do so, and that with the new job would come 
new problems to talk about. 

Yes, the jobbing game is quite a little different 
from selling the retailer, and I am glad to note that 
you have already found that the average jobber 
buyer is generally a pretty thorough business man, 
quite cold and calculating, and is more susceptible 
to quality and price than he is to a salesman’s per¬ 
sonality, funny stories or the odor of “moonshine.” 

Note you say you think that your company is mak¬ 
ing a mistake in not accepting cancellations of con- 


17 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


tracts with certain of their jobbing customers who 
have been pretty hard hit on sugar declines, and 
that you’re afraid your company will not do much 
business with those customers again, on account of 
refusing to “accommodate” them. 

Say—Boy—just how do you get that way? 

You think your company should bear “part” of 
the load, eh? You know one trouble with you ag¬ 
gressive, red-blooded, two-fisted “kids” (as you’ll 
always be to me, Red) is that you don’t look back¬ 
ward or forward far enough. 

Now let’s look back a little. ‘Way back last Spring 
your company came out with their opening prices 
on the goods they sell for Fall Delivery. On account, 
primarily, of the experience of the Wholesale Gro¬ 
cers over a long period of years, these jobbers 
bought, and why? Because they wanted to assure 
themselves of your company’s quality and against 
the possibility of an advance in cost after the goods 
were packed. That was their reason and now, 
why did your company contract? Because they 
wanted to assure themselves of a market for a cer¬ 
tain per cent of their pack so that their operations 
would not be so speculative. 

You know, no business that is purely speculative 
is fundamentally sound. 

Now this contract arrangement between your 
company and the jobber was not philanthropic on 


18 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


either side. For years this custom has existed in the 
industry and has been found to be fashioned along 
the lines of sound economics. It is not a one-sided 
proposition by any means, for, if it were, it would 
not have obtained over all these years. Sometimes 
it has worked to the advantage of the canners, but 
just as often it has worked to the advantage of the 
jobber, depending entirely on conditions beyond the 
control of either. While both canners and jobbers 
may have been laying up treasures in heaven for 
years, neither has so far had sufficient prestige with 
the management to cause the rain, sun and frost to 
act just right for the proper development of fruit 
and vegetables, but under the contract system, both 
are protected as far as possible to be fair to both 
parties. 

Now, Red, remember the entire commercial fabric 
of our nation is built up on confidence, and confi¬ 
dence can obtain only just so long as the integrity of 
the business world is maintained by the recognition 
of the validity of a contract entered into in good 
faith between buyers and sellers. 

All right—now this year, as usual, after making 
these contracts with their wholesale grocer friends, 
your company invested its money in tin cans, sugar, 
boxes, other supplies and materials, contracted for 
acreage, labor and everything else, bought a large 
amount of their supplies long before they really 
needed them, but they must necessarily take no 


19 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


chances on failure. They borrowed money at pre- 
vailing high rates to finance it. 

Now listen, son, do you remember when you were 
about nine years old, you wanted me to buy you a 
shot gun and a lot of other fool-killer arrangements, 
and you thought I was awfully hard-hearted because 
I wouldn’t get ’em for you? I would have liked to 
have gratified your desires, but, boy—it wasn’t good 
business. So, also, the cancellations—your company 
would like to “accommodate” their friends by can¬ 
celing their contracts if it would help them, but it 
isn’t good business. If they did so, they would be 
morally bound to cancel every contract, if requested, 
because they should not do it for a few unless will¬ 
ing to do it for all—they must treat all alike. 

You know, everyone admires liberality, and sim¬ 
ilarly, most people like to be liberal, but don’t get 
away from the fact that in business you can be lib¬ 
eral only up to a certain point, and after that it be¬ 
comes damfoolishness; and don’t worry about losing 
the friendship of the customer requesting cancella¬ 
tion. Any business man will admire you for being 
a business man instead of a jelly-fish. He knows 
he has no good business reason for expecting you to 
cancel and, son, you’ll always make more friends 
than enemies when you’ve the nerve to stand up 
under fire when you’re in the right. 

Your loving 

“DAD.” 


20 


The Bo j; Has Been Promoted to a 
“Special” Salesman 

Dear Hal: 

Yes, I will admit that it begins to look like I never 
write you any more except when you get a pro¬ 
motion, but I wouldn’t advise you to figure on 
that too closely, because sometimes I’m liable to 
fool you. 

As a matter of fact I’m not much for writing let¬ 
ters except when I have something to say, and when 
you were a little fellow I found that while you were 
susceptible to suggestions and advice, you were very 
quick to resent overdoses, so I’ve come to look on 
my letters a good deal like beef extract—a little of 
it in a whole cup of hot water is a nice thing, but no 
one relishes the idea of consuming a sixteen-ounce 
jar at one sitting. 

I was interested in your announcement that you 
had been appointed a “special representative” and 
will travel out of Chicago doing missionary work. 
I wonder if you used that word “missionary” ad¬ 
visedly, or if it merely dropped out as a careless 
expression. Regardless of that, I’m sure you used 
the right word, for as I understand it, that’s just 


21 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

exactly what a “special representative” should be, 
but I am wondering if you are sure you really under¬ 
stand the full meaning of the word. 

The usual adaptation of the word “missionary” as 
used in business circles is, “one who is sent out to 
generate, extend and foster business and all things 
pertaining thereto, on a certain product.” 

Now, the same relative difference exists between 
a salesman and a “special representative” as does 
between a common or garden variety of preacher 
and a missionary, but the big trouble is a great many 
people fail to analyze that difference, which accounts 
for so many failures in the ranks of special repre¬ 
sentatives and church missionaries. 

Now, if you’ll go to the trouble to drop around 
theoretically, to a “Home for Indigent (sounds like 
‘indiligent,’ don’t it?) Business and Religious Mis¬ 
sionary Failures,” you’d find after talking with Ex¬ 
hibit A and B their ideas of a missionary are a sort 
of a combination hand-shaking, chicken-eating, 
solicitous, dignified, well-dressed hombre, who sort 
of exhaled good will and felicitations, who didn’t 
have any duties in particular, but just traveled 
around “for the good of the cause.” And, of course, 
it goes without saying that that’s the reason why 
they’re inmates of the Home. 

It’s true that a missionary is a sort of super¬ 
salesman, but it means “salesman plus” rather than 
“graduate salesman.” 


22 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

A real missionary goes into the highways and by¬ 
ways; as the old fisherman says, “he ketches ’em 
where they ain’t.” He generates enthusiasm in the 
salesmen he comes in contact with; his sales work 
is educational; he sets an example for industry, 
sales ability, loyalty; he teaches the salesman to use 
superior judgment in not selling too little or too 
much to a customer; he irons out petty difficulties; 
he’s an exponent of the sales theory that contem¬ 
plates holding your head up, but not so high as to let 
a lot of little orders go by under your nose without 
seeing them. Yet withal, he is humility personified, 
which is the true mark of a great man. 

Now, son, don’t tell me that I’m only telling you 
stuff that you already know—of course, you know it 
—but what I want to know, do you capitalize that 
knowledge one hundred per cent? 

Just remember, Red, when you go out on these 
new jobs, there’s a Wrong Way and a Right Way. 
You’ve traveled the road far enough to be able to 
distinguish the sign posts. While the Boss and Dad 
cannot see everything you do, it’s reflected in the 
results, boy; it’s reflected in the results! 

Your loving 
“DAD.” 


23 



Dad Gives the Bo\) Some Sound Advice 
Regarding Team Work 

Dear Hal: 

When Mother read me your letter announcing 
that you had at last been appointed a Branch House 
Manager, as well as your comments on just what it 
meant to you, I thought I’d take time tonight to un¬ 
burden myself of some of my views in that connec¬ 
tion, that might be interesting to you at a time when 
you were just starting the new work. 

I am wondering if you fully appreciate the 
difference in your position from a standpoint of 
responsibility. 

Up to now, you have been working entirely for 
someone else and while you are still subject to con¬ 
siderable supervision, in addition thereto, you will 
now have others under your supervision—working 
under you. 

Of course, you've been through the different 
stages of your company selling and around branch 
houses long enough to have a good working idea of 
the general routine of the work and I don't doubt at 
all, but what you will handle that end of your work 
in good shape, but right now, at the start, boy, let's 


25 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

look at the bigger, broader things that are expected 
of you. 

One of the first things that will impress you is 
just how poor a salesman Smith is, over in the East 
territory and what great weaknesses that new man 
over South is already demonstrating. Your hands 
will just fairly itch to grab hold and do it all your¬ 
self, in your own way, which, of course, you think 
is the only way, but WHOA —throw on the emer¬ 
gency, Old Top, you're skidding! You're a hustler 
all right and a good man, which you admit yourself, 
but, boy, you just cannot spread yourself out over 
the whole territory and run the branch too, and 
again, if your company had wanted you to do all 
the selling they'd have told you so. 

No, your job is to teach and lead others to do 
most of the selling, reserving only the hard-boiled 
and nursing-bottle customers that the other boys 
cannot land, or for some reason seem to avoid. 

I want to bear down a little on that remark “teach 
and lead." You know, back in the old days before 
Bryan ever ran for President, which is longer than 
you can remember, the popular belief was that the 
best way to get the best results out of a man on any 
job was for the Boss to be sort of a mixture of 
Simon Legree, pyrotechnic cuss-words, bar-room 
sarcasm and “Drill ye Terriers, Drill " policy, but 
thanks to a revolutionary era which was directed 
by common hog-sense, instead of the kind that the 


26 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

butcher buys in five pound pails, that kind of man- 
management has been tabooed. 

Yes, I know—I know there are a lot of things 
you’re not going to stand for and you’re all right in 
it too. There are a lot of things you shouldn’t stand 
for, as a Manager, but what I’m talking about, Red, 
is the best way to go about to correct them. 

Before you sit down and dictate that red hot, phos¬ 
phorous, steaming, sizzling letter to Hulbert on ac¬ 
count of the way he emphasized his unfortunate dis¬ 
placement of bone, where gray matter should be, 
stop a minute, Red, close your eyes a minute and 
let this picture come back. Remember when you 
were new, when you were beating the brush?—you 
got in that town that’s always a Jonah; was raining 
and had been all week; the farmers weren’t paying 
their bills; it was inventory time and it just seemed 
like every merchant you called on was just a little 
more grouchy than the last; no one wanted your 
goods, and after working hard all day in the rain 
and snow, you ended up at a so-called hotel that 
made you think of the Biltmore—it was so different! 

You were hungry, but after a glance at the greasy 
fried potatoes, a pork chop burned to a cinder and 
the inevitable bread pudding, you just swallowed the 
lump in your throat and called it a meal? After 
sitting around the lobby making out a few reports 
and listening to the senseless patter of a dumb-bell 
in a checked suit and a pink tie, you took your little 


27 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


pitcher with the broken handle, filled it at the faucet 
and went up to a sea-going bed that humped up in 
the middle like William S. Hart’s pet broncho? 

Remember, Red, how you worried yourself to 
sleep—sick of the whole bloomin’ mess, but deter¬ 
mined that if others could succeed, you could? You 
got up in the morning, shaved in ice water, but 
stuck out your chin and strode to the dining room? 
Remember the gum-chewing waitress whom some¬ 
one had told she looked like Theda Bara, who 
brought in a murky glass of water and exclaimed 
in a breath, “Steakhamliver’nbacon an’ how’d you 
want yer aigs?” You wouldn’t have known the coffee 
if it hadn’t been in a cup, but you picked around 
like an old hen and sauntered out into the lobby still 
unbeaten when the fresh squirt behind the register 
handed you three letters. 

Ah, Red—how you smiled! The first one was 
written in a round girlish hand and told of the good 
time she was planning with you when you got back 
to “headquarters.” The next one was written in an 
old-fashioned hand, now a little scrawly and nervous 
from age, but it carried the “mother message” of 
hope and pride in the success she knew was bound 
to come to “her boy.” Things weren’t so black after 
all—you’d show those hard-shell merchants you 
would. You were almost normal when you opened 
the last letter, which from the envelope you knew 
was from “the Boss.” It read—“Why don’t you send 


28 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


us some orders—we didn’t send you out to write up 
weather reports; we don’t pay your salary to allow 
you to loll in good hotels. Unless you do better next 
week, we’ll have to make a change.” 

Bam! How’d you feel, Red? Now, honest—hasn’t 
it happened to you? Did it fill you full of pep and 
enthusiasm and cause you to go out and just knock 
the cover off the ball? You bet it didn’t and such 
things never will. That kind of letter was written 
by a graduate hack-driver, not a real man manager. 

Now, Red, listen—you were made Branch Mana¬ 
ger because of your experience, not alone in the 
product—not alone in selling, but experience in Life. 
Your company thinks you have seen so much of con¬ 
ditions that you know how to “help” the weaker 
brother over the rough places. Teach ’em, Red, lead 
’em! The only place for a driver is on the south end 
of a pair of mules. A kind word here, a helpful sug¬ 
gestion there, will make your men want to take off 
their coats to help you, boy, and it is the cheapest 
way in the world to buy loyalty. 

And Red, don’t spend all your time telling the 
other fellow how to do it. All men are not “from 
Missouri,” but the “show me” method carries a 
healthier kick than volumes of sales talks. 

You’re going to be a busy man in the new job, 
boy, but Mother and I have decided now that we’re 
glad we didn’t insist on your finishing your musical 


29 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

education, for some day we know you'll be a Sales 
Manager and I tell Mother that if she had her way, 
you would now be playing the snare drum in a jazz 
orchestra. 

Let's go, boy, let's go! 

Your loving 

“DAD." 


SO 


The Boy Is Having His Troubles as a 
Branch Manager 

Dear Hal: 

Mother and I received your letter several days 
ago and I have given quite some thought to the prob¬ 
lems you mention, because I wanted to advise you 
j;ight, if at all. 

Note you say you are not meeting with the success 
you expected to, in your present campaign and you 
attribute it to several causes, among them a con¬ 
sumers’ hunger strike, conservative buying and lack 
of effort on the part of the salesmen. 

Well—now, of course, the Old Man may not know 
as much about it as you do, but from several other 
statements you made in your letter, I’m wondering 
if you have really struck the real reason. 

I don’t want to misjudge you, boy, but those rea¬ 
sons you give are becoming so much of a chestnut to 
me—I’ve heard ’em so often that I’m pretty sure I 
know their origin. I know that during the holidays 
—just before Christmas—you could hear those rec¬ 
ords being played on almost any talking machine 
that you cared to listen to, but I thought surely, 
with the coming of the New Year you’d forget the 


31 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

“Stove League Chatter” and chase “Old Man Gloom” 
out into the sunshine. 

You know, I’m reminded of a fellow I used to 
know when I wore knee breeches. Tom Foreman 
was a boy who was raised in our town and who 
never knew what it was to run off to go swimming, 
rob a melon patch or play hookey. His folks always 
dressed him nice and he was a fair student in school, 
but he never batted over about a hundred and 
twenty-six in the back alley league, so, of course, 
there was no farewell reception tendered him by 
“the gang” when his folks decided to send him away 
to college. 

Tom would come back to town for vacations 
for a brief visit, but somehow or other his schooling 
didn’t seem to humanize him any and each time he 
came he seemed to be just a little more “uppish” 
than the time before, but he was very fond of airing 
his superior wisdom—sort of casting his pearls be¬ 
fore swine, as it were, even though we didn’t give 
him any encores. 

In this particular vicinity the only game that was 
available was a few cotton-tails and an occasional 
Jack Rabbit in the winter time, so that hunting had 
become a lost art and the sportively inclined always 
looked to some other sort of amusement. 

We never knew exactly how it happened, but it 
seemed like the boys of the Eata Bita Pie Fraternity 


32 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


or whatever it was, got to talking about hunting big 
game over their pipes one night and Tom suddenly 
developed one of his bright ideas which had been 
heretofore extinct and he took to bragging to his 
fellow pie-biters about the exceptionally good hunt¬ 
ing that was available in the vicinity of his old home 
town. Although this was in the days before pro¬ 
hibition, Tom had never seriously gone in for tonsil 
irrigation, yet it must have been something that 
made him wax eloquent, for the first thing we knew 
he had brought four embryo captains of industry 
down to our town, all dressed up like a Roosevelt 
African party and they announced their intention 
of going out on a big hunt. Tom, of course, was too 
learned to ask any of the home-guard any questions, 
so they started out one spring morning in full re¬ 
galia. 

The boys caused quite a little excitement among 
the fellows whose full dress uniform consisted of a 
canvas cap with a coffee advertisement printed on 
it, a pair of overalls and a fifty-cent shirt, but we 
held that excitement in bounds until they came home 
in the evening. Of course, we never knew the grew- 
some details, but along about seven o'clock that 
night, the hunting party returned. The total bag of 
the day consisted of three ground squirrels, a hawk, 
one rabbit and Lafe Benson's tom-cat—and say, you 
should have heard the profane vocabulary that those 
city chaps spilled every time Tom came near them. 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

Of course, Tom was their host and all that and they 
had to end their remarks with an apology, but to sit 
around and listen you couldn't help but gather the 
idea that Tom graded a good deal lower than water 
goods in fruits, when they classified him as a hunts¬ 
man. 

Now, I just mention this story in passing, because 
it brings out the fact that Tom and his party hadn't 
analyzed the situation. Their intentions were good 
and they had plenty of equipment, but the dumb-bell 
that was leading the party, Tom, hadn't given the 
matter any thought and had no definite plan. He was 
just hoping that through some miracle all the game 
for miles around would just come up and plead to 
be shot. 

You know, Red, some Branch House Managers 
employ similar tactics. They have the product, the 
samples, the salesmen and the enthusiasm, but they 
don't analyze the possibilities—they don't compare 
the sales with the available prospects in a territory 
—they allow their salesmen to take a turn-down 
from a buyer who should buy big, without attempt¬ 
ing to make another trial. You know an amateur 
hunter sometimes shoots into a flock of ducks and 
wings a couple and you can sometimes stick a shot¬ 
gun under a corncrib and pull the trigger without 
looking and maybe kill a rabbit, but the thinking 
hunter sees the game and does his best to pick 'em 
off, one by one, and generally comes in at night with 


84 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

a full bag. A manager who allows his salesmen to 
come out of a town that has five prospects, with two 
orders and three excuses, hasn’t taught ’em right. 

The hunger strike was in Ireland—Red—not in 
your territory! Conservative buying can be over¬ 
come, by not being a conservative seller — SELL 
MORE OF ’EM and OFTENER . 

Your salesmen’s effort will not worry you if you 
don’t waste it — direct ’em, Boy, ANALYZE — 
HAVE A PLAN! 

Remember, if your next letter don’t tell of your 
being a top-notcher in your campaign, it’s going to 
hurt the pride of 

Your loving 

“DAD.” 


35 



Dad Tells the Boy Why It T* ays to 
A dvertise 

Dear Hal: 

The letter Mother and I received from you just 
last night proved very interesting to me and I’ve 
been thinking about it all day, for you unconsciously 
wrote quite an essay on advertising. 

From the general tone of your letter, I imagine 
that you have not given any serious consideration to 
the many ramifications of advertising and the true 
meaning of the word, for you seem to think that 
those in charge of your business have a brother-in- 
law in the advertising game whom they have to sup¬ 
port and that therefore, they’re spending a lot of 
money uselessly, that they had better put into sales¬ 
men’s salaries. 

Now, I’m not an advertising expert, or very much 
up on the line of argument that a real advertising 
man would turn loose on you under similar circum¬ 
stances. All I know about it has been learned in just 
the old-fashioned school of common-sense plus what 
I see around me every day and I am more than sur¬ 
prised to think that a red-headed scamp with horn- 


37 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

rimmed goggles couldn’t see certain signs as clearly 
as I do. 

You seem to have the idea that because your line 
of goods is the finest thing in cans on the market, 
and has been so for fifty years, that the world and 
some parts of Missouri know it, never will forget it 
and chant it as an ode before breakfast every morn¬ 
ing and that therefore, the constant advertising that 
your company keeps up is all unnecessary. I fur¬ 
ther gather that you think the glib tongues of your¬ 
self and salesmen, plus the glibness of your prede¬ 
cessors are entirely responsible for the business you 
enjoy. 

Now, I’m not denying for an instant the insistent 
urge of the contents of the can on the appetite of 
the consumers or the efforts —Real Sales Efforts — 
of the hard-hitting salesmen on your company’s pay¬ 
roll, both now and in the by-gone days, but I would 
like you to appreciate that those things were noth¬ 
ing more than ADVERTISING and the other kind 
of advertising that you are talking about is but an¬ 
other form that augments the other and that all of 
it working together has been able to produce this 
present result and to attempt to minimize the effect 
of any of it is as foolish as the argument of the 
backwoods hill billy who argued against giving his 
son an education because he had never had one. 

Now, Red, you’ve traveled some and still do and I 
wonder if you ever got acquainted with that black 


38 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


bound book with the red edges that lies on the table 
in most hotel rooms. On the back of the book is a 
picture of a water-pitcher and underneath it says 
something about being placed there by the Gideon 
Society and if you ever looked in it, you'd find it was 
that (almost obsolete to some salesmen) gem of lit¬ 
erature known as The Holy Bible. No, I'm not start¬ 
ing to preach—fact is, preachers are not the only 
ones who read the Bible. I'll admit that it isn't 
always as lively reading as Ade or Ibanez, but 
strange as it may seem to you, you heathen, this 
Book is not only found in hotel rooms, but on the 
reading desks of our best citizens—and there's a 
reason. 

You know, Red, the Bible isn't an old moth-eaten 
account of prehistoric people, as some might think, 
but it really contains some of the best business 
stories that you can pick up. 

Speaking again of advertising, if you'll just open 
up that Book the next time you're in a hotel room, or 
can borrow one from the neighbors, turn to the lat¬ 
ter part of the Book of Genesis and begin to read 
about Joseph. For fear you will not get to your 
hotel room from the pool hall soon enough, or your 
own Bible is in the trunk in the storeroom, I'll just 
tell you about it. 

It seems that this fellow Joseph was kind of a 
hard luck individual in the early days and he got off 
on the wrong foot with his brethren and was sold 


89 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


into bondage and carried down into Egypt. He 
sparred around in Egypt for several years, just like 
lots of others do in these days, without being taken 
very seriously—sort of working the retail trade, as 
it were, when by some clever bit of personal adver¬ 
tising, like stepping on a fellow's foot or something, 
he got acquainted with Pharaoh, who was the Wood- 
row Wilson of the party in power at that time. It 
seems that Pharaoh had some kind of a dream (this 
same thing still happens you know) and Joe had 
the good Fortune to be allowed to interpret it. He 
predicted that there would be a famine in the land 
following several years of plenty and he sold the 
idea to Pharaoh so well that Pharaoh set up a Food 
Administration and appointed Joseph as the Her¬ 
bert Hoover of it and he immediately started a 
corner on the grain market. 

Well, to make a long story short—Joe had the 
right “dope" and just as he predicted there was a 
famine fell upon the land, but due to Joseph's fore¬ 
sight, which was unhampered by politicians, there 
was plenty of food for all and Joe became a great 
man. Joseph's brothers who had mistreated him 
when he wore knee pants, came down to see him and 
brought Dad along and they were quite surprised to 
find him the Big Noise in Egypt, but they were 
hungry. 

Now, Joe had been raised right—was a decent 
sort of chap and all that, so he welcomed them and 


40 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

persuaded 'em to go back and bring the rest of the 
“gang." They did so and the first thing they knew 
Egypt looked like Coney Island on Sunday after¬ 
noon—just full of Jews, and the people treated them 
fine because they were Joseph's relatives. 

Then, if you'll skip on to the first few verses in 
Exodus, you'll find a sentence that speaks volumes. 
It says “And there arose a new king in the land who 
knew not Joseph." Now, get that Red—“There arose 
a new king in the land who knew not Joseph." What 
can be plainer than that ? Did you ever hear a better 
advertising argument? You see, Joseph got to think¬ 
ing just like you talk—he thought he didn't need 
ADVERTISING. 

The rest of the story goes on to tell how the Jews 
fell in popular favor — they failed to keep their 
name, their merits and their accomplishments 
before the people and a new king arose who knew 
not Joseph. 

Now I only tell you this story in passing and tell 
it in the language I do because it's the only language 
you seem to understand. There are lots of other good 
stories in the Bible—dig 'em out Red—they're good 
for you. 

Boy, listen! Advertising doesn't mean just so 
much printer's ink in the newspapers, or magazines. 
That's the most familiar form and it's necessary and 
produces big, but there are other kinds. You know 
the majority of your trade never knew the founders 


41 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

of your company personally. When they think of 
your company they think of you. You're the point 
of contact. What kind of an advertisement are you 
for the firm? Did you ever think of the responsibil¬ 
ity you are carrying as a manager of your company? 
Do you know that every move, every letter you 
write, every position you take means that you are 
portraying your company to someone? 

In business a new king arises in the land every 
day. There's a new retail grocer—a new jobber— 
or jobber's buyer on a thousand corners. They know 
not Joseph—regardless of how good your product 
is, or how long you've been on the territory, IT 
TAKES ADVERTISING TO PUT YOU ACROSS 
IN A BIG WAY. 

I'm going to bed, Red, hoping I haven't bored 
you. Just remember that the Old Man is always 
hoping that your personal label means as much as 
the label on your company’s can — if it does — 
ADVERTISE. 

Your loving 

“DAD.” 


42 


Dad Counsels the Bo \> to Throw Away His 
Knickers and Put on Long Pants 
Dear Hal:— 

Mother just finished reading your last letter aloud 
to me and while I know my quick reply will sort of 
shock you, I cannot help but unload a few pet ideas 
I have along the lines suggested in your letter. 

If the proverbial innocent bystander, or casual ob¬ 
server were to pick up your letter in the street and 
would take it seriously (which I don’t) he’d certainly 
pick you up as hopeless, for the whole wail of your 
letter, in criticising the way the home office is hand¬ 
ling you in particular and the sales organization in 
general, reminds me so much of the kind and con¬ 
structive verbal barrage that a Republican Senator 
lays down every time a Democratic colleague intim¬ 
ates in public that his party won the World War. 

A little over a week ago, I found time hanging a 
little heavily on my hands so I thought I’d take a 
run out to the Stock Yards and visit a little in your 
company’s office. I don’t know why I did it—guess it 
was a little touch of parental pride, or sentiment that 
must have come over me and I thought I’d go out 
and let ’em kid me along about that red-headed son 


43 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

of mine. Anyway, knowing them so well out there, I 
thought I’d enjoy the trip and I wasn’t disappointed. 
Things have changed quite a little since my time, but 
if I’m any judge they haven’t forgotten the Old 
Man’s admonition to “keep up the quality ” not only 
in the product, but also in the caliber of the men 
who are running the business from the “boss” him¬ 
self, clear down to the office boy. 

Then I sat down at the boss’ desk and just as 
I expected he had some very nice things to say about 
you which, of course, were hard to take. After 
talking to him as long as I thought I dared, I went 
over and sat down at the desk where all the General 
Sales Department mail was being sorted and I sum¬ 
moned up enough courage to ask to see the open 
files they had with you. Don’t know why I did it— 
guess it was just because I was curious to see how 
well you handled things and I suppose they thought 
they’d gratify an old man’s whim by allowing it— 
anyway, they handed me a big bunch of correspon¬ 
dence and I went over and sat down in one of the 
private offices so I could digest it. 

The first letter I picked up from the pile ran 
something like this, “Attached please find a letter 
from Salesman ITooiszis, asking that we pur¬ 
chase an automobile. What do you want to do with 
it?” And, as I expected, the salesman’s letter was 
typical of what could be expected from your letter. 
It merely said he “thought” he could get more busi- 


44 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

ness working with an automobile than he could by 
walking—no data—no estimates—-no logical reasons, 
in fact no nothing on which anyone could base an 
intelligent opinion as to whether the request was 
justified. 

Then I picked up another one of your letters that 
ran something like this, “Salesman I. M. Whatshis- 
name was sick all of last week. Please advise if I 
shall pay him or not.” A flat statement with no 
recommendation as to what action you, as a Man¬ 
ager, would like taken. 

Then I picked up a third letter that ran a good deal 
like this, “We have on hand twenty-eight Christmas 
Boxes which we have been unable to sell. No doubt 
some of the other houses have a market for them. 
Will you not please give us disposition.” 

By the time I got through with that, Red, Pll 
confess I had mingled emotions. I didn’t know 
whether to laugh or cry. I wondered if they were 
framing up on me to give my pride a jolt and I 
looked out the door at the two men who handled 
those letters—noticed the bald spots on their heads, 
the wrinkles beginning to show around their eyes 
and the gray commencing to come around the 
temples and, Red—on the level, boy, I didn’t wonder. 

I couldn’t help but think of the story of the long 
suffering Job or how the songs and stories of the 
centuries have told of the long suffering patience 
of Mother Love and Pll confess I couldn’t figure it 


45 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

out, for those fellows didn't have the appearance of 
the Job I'd had described to me, nor did they re¬ 
semble doting mammas, so I gathered up the bunch 
of letters, red in the face I'll admit, and went out and 
asked one of 'em how in the double-jointed, concen¬ 
trated essence of modern profanity they managed to 
reconcile their keeping you on the payroll after writ¬ 
ing such letters as those first three. He looked at 
'em, scratched his bald spot, smiled—think of it, 
Red, (you red-headed pepper-box) smiled when I 
was all ready for the thirty-second degree of 
apoplexy and said, “Well, Dad, the only trouble with 
you is that you quit after reading the first three.” 
Then he took up the rest, one by one, and showed 
me stuff that gradually brought me down to earth. 

He showed me a dozen along the same line and 
ended up by saying, “You see, Dad, Red is a pretty 
good boy after all—it wasn't very long ago that he 
was made Manager and he sometimes overlooks the 
fact that more is now expected of him and we'll ad¬ 
mit that some of his letters do smack of the kinder¬ 
garten, but he's sensible and we're trying to teach 
him that we employ Managers to come to us with a 
decision or recommendation, not for one; something 
that we can approve or show him why it is imprac¬ 
tical. In other words, to think for us, not we for 
him. And again, we are trying to pound through 
that red pate of his that stock he has is his respon- 
sibilty—must be moved in his territory—not shipped 
to a more aggressive brother Manager. 


46 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


“Don't you worry, Dad, Red has his faults, but 
he'll grow up." 

So I left, Red, feeling that your company was 
a little more tolerant than I would be and I guess 
after all, I'll have to take some of the blame for 
your last letter, in that you're my son, but when I 
read that letter of yours—full of criticism, but 
strangely minus suggestions—I couldn't help mutter, 
“Take off the rompers, boy, take 'em off—get on the 
long pants—you're a big boy now.” 

Just remember—anyone can criticize, but the boy 
with the sensible suggestion for improvement and 
the definite logical recommendation, doesn’t have to 
sit on the bench when they play the World's Series. 

Goodnight Red—think it over. 

Your loving 

“DAD." 


47 



The Boy Has Begun to Solicit Dad's 
Counsel 

Dear Hal: 

Your last letter made me happier than I can begin 
to tell you. In it you related some of your problems 
and really asked advice. I was beginning to think 
you are getting “fed up” on my unsolicited counsel 
but feel complimented to know you now want more 
of it. 

But, leaving the personal side out of it, you know, 
Red, the smart man is the one who collects ideas 
from every one he meets, separates the wheat from 
the chaff and then capitalizes them, and it's a sincere 
pleasure for me to know that you've at last arrived 
at the age when you are big enough to admit that 
when brains were passed around you didn't get all 
of 'em. 

So you're wondering what's the matter with your 
salesmen, eh? They don't seem to take things seri¬ 
ously and worry whether they get business or not— 
always looking forward to pay-day and that's all— 
eh, what? All right — your description of their 
attitude is so good that I believe I know just where 
the trouble is. 


49 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


I suppose you were too young at the time to get the 
lesson, but, Red, your case reminds me of something 
that used to happen regularly when you were a little 
boy. Do you remember years ago when you used to 
have that brindle pup ? He wasn't much to look at— 
had no pedigree, or anything, but was just plain dog 
—the kind whose only excuse for living was that he 
was a playmate of a freckle-faced, red-headed boy. 
Well, anyway, the little girl next door had a cat for 
a pet, if you'll remember. Similarly to the dog, the 
cat hadn't taken any blue ribbons and about the only 
thing she did worth mentioning now, at least, was 
to notify the family that claimed her, ever so often, 
that she was the proud mother of a mess, and I say 
it advisedly, Red, a mess of kittens. 

But the Boss of the house didn't appreciate her 
being so prolific — not being as interested in cat 
farms as our old friend Charlie Emery. So ever so 
often, while you and the neighbor girl were out to a 
toddle party, her father and myself would sneak 
down in their basement, ostensibly to look over the 
last sad remnants of his private stock (which is 
speaking in an unknown tongue to you now), but 
primarily to increase the mortality list of the cat 
specie by holding each kitten in the bottom of a pail 
of water until eight of their proverbial nine lives 
had taken flight for cat heaven. 

Now, Spud, your pup and Puss, the mother cat, 
were never what you might call affinities. Even 


50 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

though the two families with whom they were living 
were always close friends, the same measure of re¬ 
spect and esteem was not shared by Spud and Puss. 
As a result, every time Spud would spy Puss in the 
backyard he'd let out a mongrel yelp and start for 
her with the obvious intention of annihilating her. 

Now the thing that used to impress me about this 
almost daily scene was that when Puss didn't have 
any kittens—no family responsibilities, as it were— 
when Spud rushed for her she'd turn tail and do a 
double-quick for the nearest tree, registering all the 
fear and retiring qualities that we come to expect in 
the female of the species. 

But when Puss had kittens, still undrowned, par¬ 
ticularly when she was enjoying a siesta in their 
presence, Spud could make his flying start with all 
the gusto and bluff that is common to cur tactics, 
but when he arrived at the point of contact Puss 
would bow her back, never budge an inch and show 
all the courage of the early Spartans. The result, of 
course, was that on such occasions the fun was all 
out of the game for Spud and he was clearly “sold" 
on the proposition that Puss could not be bluffed, 
and he'd beat a hasty retreat before getting within 
paw-length of the confident Puss. 

Now, Red, that's all there is to the story, except 
the moral. Just consider the salient points. Same 
dog, same cat, same backyard, but different per¬ 
formance, Why, Red, why? Ah!—you've got it, I 


51 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

know. Inspiration —that's it—that's the word. Puss 
with kittens had an inspiration that Puss without 
them didn't have. 

Now, boy, take this lesson right home with you 
and apply it to your own problem. What your sales¬ 
men lack is inspiration , and you're the little doctor 
with the hypodermic to give it to 'em. Of course, it 
doesn't apply literally, even though some people do 
claim that the man with the big family has as many 
more reasons as he has mouths to feed, why he 
should make a success, but—I don't mean it that 
way, Red—I don't mean it that way. You must 
teach your men to speak and feel about your com¬ 
pany as “We," not as “the house." 

Any man with a single spark of ambition should 
look forward to an eventual goal, considerably far¬ 
ther than the weekly pay-check. His permanency on 
their pay-roll and the advancement he should hope 
to merit, depends entirely upon the combined efforts 
of the company family. His success is their success, 
and without favorable results neither he, nor they, 
can prosper. 

Teach ’em, Red—show ’em their responsibility! 
Fire their minds and hearts with the fact that 
they're not working for the company—bless your 
heart, boy, they are the company to all intent and 
purpose on their territory, and either their lacka¬ 
daisical or their aggressive, businesslike demeanor 
and actions will be interpreted by their trade exactly 


52 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

as they appear and the company will be so reflected. 
And when you tell 'em, Red, be sure that the en¬ 
thusiasm you have, which as you know, is the fuse 
that ignites opportunity , is showing in your eyes, 
your face and is reflected from your heart. Enthus¬ 
iasm — Inspiration . Ah! Red, it's contagious—show 
'em how proud you are to say “We” —show 'em that 
it's a privilege to be a part of an organization that 
holds the place it does in the firmament of a big 
business. Sell 'em the company idea first —then sell 
'em the line. 

After that, Red, if I’m not mistaken, you'll have 
'em sitting on the edge of the chair, rarin' to go, 
filled with the kind of red-blooded courage that has 
made American ideas and American ideals a 
sjmonym for accomplishment. 

If you sell your salesmen all that, Old Top, and 
keep 'em sold by your living example, I don't think 
you’ll have to worry about the results they turn in. 
If that doesn't work, then the Old Man's experience 
with human nature is a failure and he'll be disap¬ 
pointed in his own judgment and the ability of his 
fire-brand son. 

Keep me posted—I like it. 

Your loving 
‘T>AD.” 


53 



The Boy Has Told Dad of His Latest 
Pet “Peeve” 

Dear Hal: 

Mother and I have a lot of fun before we open 
each of your letters, speculating on whether or not 
you're going to tell us of some unusual accomplish¬ 
ment, or air a pet peeve. So far, the peeves you've 
aired have been so imaginary that we have enjoyed 
them just as much as your successes, so don't harbor 
the thought that we'd attempt to discourage your 
letter-writing style for a moment. In fact, Mother 
thinks that my chief enjoyment these days is giving 
you advice in answer to the problems you mention 
and I guess she's not so far off, at that—Mother 
never is, you know. 

So you're all “het up'' and about ready to quit 
over the fact that the boss has put a “District Man¬ 
ager" or “General Man" over you, eh? You're not 
going to stand for all this “supervision;" if you're 
not capable of running your branch and working 
direct with Chicago, you want to know it—eh ? And 
especially, do you want 'em to know that you're 
every bit as capable as the fellow they picked out as 
your so-called superior—and just where do they get 


55 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

all these new-fangled notions about supervision. Of 
course, Mr. So and So is a nice fellow personally, but 
you just don’t intend to be bossed by anyone except 
the General Sales Manager himself and this and that, 
and this and that, and this and that!!! Whew! Gee! 
but our cat’s got a long tail. 

You know, Red, really you furnish me a lot of 
amusement. All I have to do to thoroughly enjoy 
myself after reading a letter like yours is to light up 
an old jimmy-pipe, get in the old arm chair, close my 
eyes and live over again the old days when you were 
a little shaver about nine years old. Whenever that 
white-headed brother of yours would get into a game 
of marbles or a checker game with you and Junior 
would begin to get a little the best of you, you’d 
throw one of those red-headed, temperamental fits 
of yours, kick over the checker-board, throw away 
your marbles, toss that Vermillion mane in the air, 
chew up a couple of lead pencils and swear by all the 
by-laws of Huckelberry Finn and Tom Sawyer that 
you’d be tetotally dod-buttered and ding-busted if 
you’d ever play a game with him again. 

The amusing part about it, Red, was that it was 
only a brain storm that I used to attribute to your 
general fiery disposition, for in less than five min¬ 
utes you’d forgotten all the vindictive utterances 
and were playing with the brother again just as 
sweet and happy as you please. 

Yes, it was funny, Boy, and I used to get many a 


56 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

good laugh, but Red, when you put one of 'em on 
paper at your age, I'll have to admit the only way I 
get a laugh is to try to think of you as a kid. As a 
kid, it was truly laughable, but for a fellow as big 
and as old as you are now—LONG PANTS—hair on 
your upper lip and wearing a vest n'everything— 
on the level Red, you're as funny as an epileptic fit 
—you're pitiful! 

Now listen, Old Top, before you make up your 
mind to walk out and leave the company lying on 
its back gasping—just sit down a minute and let's 
talk this over. You've got all the confidence in the 
world in the “Big Boss" haven't you? You think 
pretty well of his judgment and wouldn't put yours 
up as being superior to it for a minute, now would 
you? Of course not! Now just let this thought ooze 
into that corrugated cast-iron brain of yours—your 
company isn't running a peanut stand any more— 
they might have been small enough one day when 
the Boss himself could put up the window-shades 
and sweep out the office every night, but that time 
has passed, Boy, that day is gone. 

Admitting that, doesn't it occur to you that the 
Boss has to have a little help in running the busi¬ 
ness? No one ever made a success of any business if 
he didn't attend to it; if he didn't know what was 
going on all the time. You'd think anyone a lunatic 
who expected you to sell all the goods handled 
through your branch, deliver them yourself and do 


57 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

all the billing. You'd say it just couldn't be done, 
which is true and then you'd go on and sketch how 
you'd organize a force to do all of it with your help, 
of course, and you’d know what's going on every 
minute. 

All right—now doesn't it dawn on you that you 
are expecting the Big Boss to be as ridiculous as the 
suggestion about your doing all the work in your 
branch, when you voice those one-quarter of one 
percent sentiments, criticising him for calling in 
help to handle a far more complex problem than 
your little unit? 

The General Sales Manager of a company like 
yours, which does business in all parts of the world, 
has a pretty big task cut out for him. You may be a 
conscientious, intelligent, hard-working manager, 
but you're human, Red, and being human, you're not 
always one hundred per cent right and it's his job 
to know all about you and the way you're handling 
your business, all the time. You're not foolish enough 
to think he can keep in as close touch as would be 
necessary to know all these things, with scores of 
branches, are you? Of course not! Well, all right 
then, just how is he going to do it? You know the 
answer just as well as I do—so granting that help is 
necessary and that he has to have someone to be his 
“eyes" in the field—who's going to do it and what 
would YOU call the position? The answer is obvious 
—he must have “District Managers" and if you 


58 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


were the Boss just who would you pick as a District 
Manager? I know just what you're going to say, so 
I’ll say it first. Of course, he could pick the oldest 
managers on the force—and their experience would 
make good District Managers of them—mind you, 
but that would be wishing an awful hard job on 
those old fellows who deserve to take it easier than 
they could on a District Manager’s job. The older 
managers have arrived at a place in life where they 
don’t want to spend fifteen nights out of thirty on a 
Pullman and you cannot blame ’em. 

The District Manager’s title may sound awfully 
nice, but it’s no flowery bed of ease, Red, believe me. 
All right then, if that’s impractical, what is the an¬ 
swer? I’ll tell you—they pick men who have had a 
broad experience in the game; men who have had 
good reputations as good housekeepers; men who 
know how to analyze branch house expense as well 
as sales results; men who are so constituted that 
they can give REAL HELP to a manager who is 
intelligent enough to use the experience and advice 
that is thus afforded. It’s no reflection against your 
intelligence and ability to have one of ’em over you 
—why bless your old red-headed soul, the only man 
in this life who don’t need supervision, that I know 
of, is a wooden Indian in front of a cigar store. He’s 
bolted down—no brains—just a wooden man! Why 
even the officers of a company have supervision in 
the board of directors and back of the board are the 
stockholders, and boy, they’re some supervisors. 


59 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

And Red, don’t let anyone of human intelligence 
overhear you question the ability of the man super¬ 
vising—don’t you know when you do that, you’re 
questioning the judgment of the Big Boss himself 
and Boy, you mustn’t do that because you’re old 
enough to know better. Just put this in your pipe, 
Old Top, anybody nowadays who’s holding a job that 
requires ability, has got it tucked away around his 
system some place, I’ll admit that sometimes it’s 
pretty hard for a youngster to see, but it’s there, 
Boy, it’s there. Some day you’ll be a District Man¬ 
ager if you’ll just quit standing on your own foot. 

After thinking over what I’ve said, if you still 
feel like you did when you wrote your letter, go 
ahead and send in your resignation—they’ll accept 
it and not pass any dividends either. I’m hoping 
however, that your letter was just a recurrence of 
one of your childish temperamental fits and if so, 
I’ll laugh at it just like I used to. If not, I suppose 
I’ll have to go down and try and find a job for you 
driving a hack, so please don’t make it hard for 

Your Loving 
"DAD.” 


60 


The Boy Has Met the Girl—He Sounds 
Dad Out on Matrimony 

Dear Hal:— 

Mother and I have had several executive sessions 
since receiving your last letter, and you can well im¬ 
agine that I’ve received a lot of “advice” from her 
as to just how to answer it, but it's no use— the 
Good Lord so constituted me that I have to “speak 
right out in meeting” if at all, so if I'm going to 
advise you along the line you requested, I’ve just got 
to tell you how I feel about it without reservation, 
so here goes! 

You didn’t tell us much in your letter about how 
far this affair of yours had gone and it makes it a 
little difficult on that account. You talk like there’s 
nothing “serious” yet and that you’re just wonder¬ 
ing about certain “features” of Life’s greatest ad¬ 
venture. Well, I hope you’re not kidding the “old 
man,” for I’m too old a bird to know that if you're 
all through with the overture, prologue and the med¬ 
ley of popular airs between the first and second act, 
that it’s too late for me to try and break up the 
party, so if you’re telling me the truth, the few 
words of advice I’ll give may fall on fertile ground, 


61 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

but if not, Boy, it may sting a little, but anyway, 
you’ve brought it on yourself, as Delilah remarked 
to Sampson when he started the rough house in the 
Temple. 

I have half a notion to send your letter back to 
you just to show you how little you really told us 
about Her. About all I’ve been able to gather, after 
reading your letter about five times, is that she’s 
about the finest thing in petticoats that ever wielded 
a lipstick; comes from “an awfully old and respected 
familyis the only child; has been raised a pet; is 
beautiful and accomplished (presume you mean by 
that, she can dress herself with the assistance of a 
couple of maids) and her “old man” has oodles of 
money. Humph! somehow that description don’t 
thrill me a bit! 

Now, Red, before you begin to get red above the 
collar-band, just let me say in passing that I don’t 
mean anything personal about the girl at all—she 
cannot help it because she’s that way, and there’s 
just a chance that I’ve got her all wrong. No doubt 
she’s all you said about her and then some, but if 
she is, I’m just wondering if you accidentally picked 
up a white chip on the floor, or just how you came to 
get a hand in the game? 

Not that there’s anything about it that isn’t good 
enough for anyone of that description—no—far be 
it from me, Red, to run down the quality of your 
personal line, but your description doesn’t mean any- 


62 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

thing to a fellow who has lived long enough to know 
that there's something more to this life than moon¬ 
light and honeysuckle. I can almost hear you say 
that the “old man” is hard-boiled, maybe I am, but 
there's a practical side to this matrimonial game 
and it is a pretty good thing to consider seriously 
before you go into the musical comedy features. 

Now let's discuss this thing from a sensible stand¬ 
point. This “ old and respected family” business is a 
nice thing, Red, but it will not add a single item to 
the order you get from the wholesale grocer around 
the corner: What does she know about sewing but¬ 
tons on a union suit so you will not have to use up a 
whole card of safety pins? I've found that knowl¬ 
edge fairly essential in cold weather. 

She's an “only child”—a “pet,” eh? Well, that's 
fine, Red. It's nice to know that you will not have a 
couple of “old maid” sisters-in-law to help you ride 
range and boss the outfit, but does she show any 
signs of being ambitious enough to get up at 6:30 
A. M. and cook breakfast for you, or do you think 
you'd have to go around to the Greasy Greek's for 
your coffee and? Maybe that thought hasn't oc¬ 
curred to you, especially when standing under a 
Southern Moon when the Zephyrs waft the odor of 
the Lilacs; but, Boy, the Zephyrs should some day 
waft the odor of a few pieces of bacon with you on 
the receiving end in your own dining room, and 
you'll appreciate that more and more as your 
pompadour recedes. 


63 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


I like that part of your description where you say 
she's beautiful and accomplished. That means a 
lot, Boy, but am wondering if you mean it the way 
I'd like to believe. God never made anything more 
beautiful than a good woman. She's His Master¬ 
piece, all right—there's no doubt about that, but 
some folks' idea of beauty is different from mine. 
The cleverest word painter who ever wrote a mas¬ 
sage cream ad, couldn't commence to picture that 
beauty—that beggars description—that rapturous 
smile that is born of the very whispering of angels 
which lights a mother's face when she hears the first 
cry of her new-born babe. Beauty—why, Boy—the 
symmetry or form and feature of a Venus pales into 
insignificance beside it, and the funny thing about it 
is no one woman, or type, has a corner on it. Of 
course, you've never dreamed of that example, but 
it's coming to you, Boy, it's coming to you. 

And “accomplished"—well, what do you mean by 
that? Has she taken a post-graduate course in Vic- 
trola lessons, can toddle and sing in Society's am¬ 
ateur “Follies," or do you mean you think she 
could some day referee a bout between a couple of 
lusty-lunged seven and ten-year-old boys, croon a 
lullaby to a nursing baby and keep the Sunday roast 
from burning, all at the same time? I'll say you 
want to get one that's “accomplished," but it's a 
damsite more important to visualize just what they 
could “accomplish" later, than what has gone 
before. 


64 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


Note you say “her old man has oodles of money,” 
but you forgot to mention whether he was a burglar, 
a politician, or a flat owner—not that there’s very 
much difference, but I was sort of curious. Any¬ 
way, as I see it, that’s the least important thing in 
your description. The “old man” may be a decent 
sort, after all, and may have got it by marriage or 
from one of Ryan’s tips on the stock market, so it 
may not be his fault. At least, I don’t see how 
that’s going to affect you in the least. I know you 
well enough to know, Red, that you’ll never become 
one of those parasites who, on account of having 
money in the family, find their most arduous duty 
the daily airing of a poodle dog on a string—neither 
can I picture you under any circumstances paying 
your cigarette bills with other than the coin you had 
personally earned, so I’m not going to comment on 
that feature. 

Now listen, Red, I expect you think that I’ve been 
pretty caustic in the foregoing, and in order to let 
you win an argument I’ll agree; but, Boy, this mar¬ 
riage thing is a more serious problem than you think 
it is. I appreciate that there are a great many re¬ 
quisites to look for in a wife that I haven’t enumer¬ 
ated above. It goes without saying that you will 
choose eventually a girl fully worthy of you in in¬ 
telligence, beauty, lineage and what not, but I do 
want you to come down out of the clouds—realize 
that there’s something more to it than love and 
kisses and a cottage. 


65 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

Remember the girl you choose will sit across the 
table from you for thousands of dinners. She may 
look awfully good in a party dress, but will she show 
up as well in a Mother Hubbard with her hair in 
curl papers? She may make an exquisite Welsh 
rarebit, but can she brew a real cup of coffee? She 
may be charming in the receiving line at an after¬ 
noon function, but can she build a satisfactory pair 
of rompers? 

Fve sort of born down on one feature, Red—I've 
done so advisedly, because in my opinion the decid¬ 
ing question, after all is said and done, is, “What 
kind of a mother will she make for my children?” 
If you can honestly answer that question and give 
a favorable one, the rest will take care of them¬ 
selves, Boy—the rest will take care of themselves. 

And, after reading this, Red, if the idea should 
come to you that maybe the “old man” don't know 
what he's talking about, just stop a minute—pause, 
Boy, and consider that it took some little picker to 
choose one who has come up to every one of these 
qualifications—your Mother! and the other half of 
the sketch knows that he'll always be proud to sign 
himself 

Your loving 

“DAD.” 


66 


The Bo\) Has Been Bragging a Little 

Dear Hal: 

Mother and I have had quite a discussion tonight 
about your last letter and we’ve just about come to 
the conclusion that you’re eating too much rooster 
meat, or something else with similar effect, for your 
last letter certainly shows that you’re getting 
“cocky.” Of course, you may have reason to be, on 
account of something you’re holding back. Maybe 
Mother and I don’t quite appreciate just how impor¬ 
tant you really are, but anyway the local cigar man 
hasn’t displayed any cigar boxes with your pictures 
on ’em yet, so we’re forced to assume that you’re 
just feeling your oats a bit. 

I notice that you’ve arrived at the place where you 
complain quite a little about the damphool things the 
Chicago office writes you about and the asininity of 
some of their requests and plans. It seems they’ve 
insulted your intelligence by questioning some of 
your moves and that they certainly have had enough 
experience with you to know that you wouldn’t do 
anything but one way, which, of course, is the right 
way, and you’re getting tired of being bothered with 
so many bunglers and policies. 


67 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

Now, Red, if you think that your otherwise good 
letter is going to kindle a single spark of sympathy 
in the Old Man, you’re just as mistaken as if you’d 
torn your shirt. 

The first thing I wonder about is, just how do you 
get that way ? I suppose you’ve been working pretty 
hard, your digestion is bad, or else you’ve quit smok¬ 
ing or something else has turned up to change the 
even alto of your way, because the symptoms you 
are displaying are not at all new to me, or anyone 
else who has gotten over the college yell days of 
business life. No—we’ve all gone thru it, Boy, we’ve 
all gone thru it, and the only question in my mind in 
your case is, will it turn out to be only baby rash, or 
a genuine case of the measles ? 

You know, ever since Hector was a pup, pretty 
nearly every five-fingered snoozer has sometime or 
other in his life arrived at a place where he thought 
everything he did was one hundred per cent right 
and he formed a hundred and five proof pity for the 
poor unfortunate numskulls who didn’t agree with 
him. It’s a sort of childhood disease that has to be 
gone thru, like mumps, chicken-pox or hog cholera. 
The majority of the victims recover after a very 
brief illness and there have been but few cases where 
it actually killed the victim. However, there are 
numerous cases on record where it has necessitated 
an operation to remove the ego and quite a few in¬ 
stances where it has left the victim in such shape 


68 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


that they had to seek out-door employment like ring¬ 
ing up fares on the back platform of a street car, or 
riding on top of a hansom cab. 

Now Mother and I are not very much concerned 
in your case, because we know you have a rugged 
constitution that will pull you thru the crisis, but 
we're wondering if it wouldn't do you a little good 
to sort of hold up the mirror and let you see just 
how ludicrous you look to the rest of the world 
while you're suffering from this malady. Remember 
how funny you looked when you had the mumps 
and when you were all broken out with Liberty 
measles? Well, Boy, if that brought the smiles of 
the onlookers, your present indisposition makes 'em 
burst out laughing. 

Now listen, Red, your entire trouble can be diag¬ 
nosed as just a perverted point of view and every 
time I use that expression I am reminded of a call 
I once made at a hospital when the nurse and the 
doctor called me in to get my first peep at a little 
squirming mite of humanity that afterwards learned 
to call me Dad. In my enthusiasm and paternal 
pride, I exclaimed “Some girl” but the doctor just 
shook his head and said, “No, you're mistaken—a 
boy.” Now Red, I wasn't exactly an idiot. I knew 
more or less about babies and all that, but the rea¬ 
son the doctor and I didn't agree was purely point 
of view. He knew, whereas I was only jumping at 
conclusions. 


69 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


But to go back to your symptoms. Of course, I 
know you’re going to tell me where you can point 
out where you were asked by Chicago to furnish 
information, or do something that you knew wasn’t 
what they wanted—was nonsensical, etc., and I’ll 
agree with you—now—think a minute! Chicago 
don’t claim to be above errors, mistakes and cases 
of bad judgment. Of course not, and do you know 
why they make no such claims? Well, I’ll tell you. 
It’s because they’ve gone thru and gotten over the 
same illness you have. They know as long as they 
are dealing with the human equation, errors will 
creep in, but haven’t you noticed, now be honest Red, 
that they don’t jump at conclusions like you do and 
doesn’t it occur to you that if they have found clair¬ 
voyance impractical as compared to cold fact, that 
they will naturally ask more questions, demand 
clearer explanations and expect you to conduct 
your end in a more self-explanatory fashion than 
otherwise ? 

The trouble with you, Old Top, is that when you 
get a letter from Chicago requesting a little, simple 
thing and especially if they don’t go to the trouble 
to explain every reason why they want it, which 
they shouldn’t have to do, you immediately begin to 
hunt for holes in it. Instead of thinking along the 
lines of how quick you can comply, you begin to 
wonder if there’s a hidden meaning in it; if they 
couldn’t get the same thing some other place, etc., 


70 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


and you burn up ten times as much energy and 
write more letters trying not to do what is wanted 
than you would if you'd just go about and do it. 

You know, Red, when you were a little fellow you 
had the same symptoms, but I thought you'd out¬ 
grow 'em. When you were about nine years old and 
would do something that I thought you should be 
disciplined for slightly, I would frequently order you 
to go over and sit down in a certain chair. After 
so much hesitation you'd start, but you'd take a 
circuitous route, knock over the piano bench, kick 
the cat and eventually, if I kept after you, you'd 
arrive at the chair designated, but afterward, when 
in lower mathematics you learned the axiom that 
the shortest distance between two given points was 
a straight line, I thought you had gotten over it, but 
I guess not—eh, what? 

Now to make you feel a little better, I'll admit 
that men higher up than you often get the wrong 
point of view and I'll illustrate. One time informa¬ 
tion came to the home office that a certain competi¬ 
tor was putting a special pack on the market in a 
certain large city, but not letting it be known that it 
was special by packing it under the same label that 
they were using all over the country. Naturally, 
this was important and needed quick investigation. 
Chicago wired their manager in that city to pick up 
some samples of that brand and send in immedi¬ 
ately. 


71 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

Chicago didn’t go to the trouble to explain their 
reasons — it wasn’t necessary and long telegrams 
cost money. A few days later they received a letter 
from this manager which read something like this: 
“I received your wire asking me to send you sam¬ 
ples of Blank’s Beans. I cannot understand why you 
should bother me with a request of this kind when 
all you’d have to do would be to go into any store in 
Chicago and buy the same thing, therefore, I am 
not complying with your request.” He even went so 
far as to send a copy to the Boss expiating on the 
asininity of the dumb-bell making such a request 
and, of course, expecting quite a pat on the back for 
his forethought. 

I guess I don’t need to finish the story; you can 
imagine the Golden Text that the Boss thought of 
after reading the letter, particularly considering 
that it was his suggestion in the first place. 

Now Red, this means only one thing—if you’re 
loyal (and you are) don’t look for the holes in every 
proposition that’s put up to you until you arrive at 
a position where your chief duties are to look for 
those holes. As long as you’re working under some¬ 
one else, give your superior the benefit of the doubt. 
He may make some mistakes, but don’t be trying to 
read his mind. Don’t get cynical—give the other fel¬ 
low credit for having a reason for asking what he 
does. Get out your old yellow copy of Elbert Hub¬ 
bard’s preachment “The Message to Garcia” and 


72 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

note how that fellow, when given a task, didn't look 
for the holes in it, or question the motive, but went 
ahead and did it. 

There's a lesson in it for you, Boy—get it! 

Your loving 

“DAD." 


73 



Dad Warns of the Evil Spirit That Whispers 
You Haven't Time 

Dear Hal:— 

Mother and I arrived home without mishap and 
she said I should write you at once and let you know 
that we arrived safely and to tell you again how 
much we appreciated the good time that you showed 
us on our visit. 

Am mighty glad I went to the office with you Sat¬ 
urday and attended your meeting with your sales¬ 
men. You were so busy just about the time I had to 
run away to make my train that I didn’t get to tell 
you several little points that I picked up, but I guess 
I can tell you just as well in this letter. 

You probably noticed that I made it my business 
to sort of “mill” around with your various men and 
engage them in conversation. I want to congratulate 
you on the class of men you have gotten together. 
They’re a credit to you, Boy, and with that bunch 
of enthusiastic live-wires, I don’t think you need to 
worry a bit about your results just as long as you 
direct them properly. 

There was one thing that struck me very forcibly 
as I talked to your various salesmen. Every one of 


75 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

them had a great big territory and they freely ad¬ 
mitted that they weren’t calling on all their pros¬ 
pects ; said they didn’t have time and they admitted 
that they picked out the best and biggest prospects 
where they were pretty sure to land an order and 
then rushed on to another town and went through 
the same performance. 

Now, Red, I don’t blame your men for that condi¬ 
tion—I think they are sincere in thinking they are 
doing just right, particularly because you have so 
routed them. Neither do I blame you, so all-fired 
much, because you just haven’t given it enough 
thought so far, but listen— 

Years ago, where I was raised, it was a great 
country for raspberries. As you know, the berry 
season is a pretty short one and the farmers raising 
them had to depend to no small extent on hiring a 
gang of boys just out of school to pick them. All us 
fellows were pretty anxious about that time of the 
year to earn a little pocket money and we descended 
on those berry patches like a swarm of bees. Usu¬ 
ally, the days were pretty hot and when night came, 
we were a pretty tired bunch of Indians and although 
we worked pretty hard we hadn’t earned a great 
deal for we were paid so much per quart. 

One of the boys used to turn in about twice as 
many berries every day as the rest of us and the 
farmer used to tell us every night the reason he did 
so was because he put more berries in the pail than 


76 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

he did in his mouth. Of course, that line of talk 
was pretty good berry patch repartee, but it set me 
thinking because I knew I was just as quick as the 
other fellow; that I worked as hard and I didn't like 
raspberries anyway, so I knew I wasn't wasting any 
on the consumer's pack method, so, one night I 
caught up with the star picker on his way home and 
asked him for the secret. He looked at me and 
chuckled and said, “Come on home with me and get 
my Dad to tell you." This aroused by thirteen year 
old curiosity, so I went along with him. When we 
got home we found his father on the back porch and 
he said, “Dad, tell my pal here what you told me 
about picking berries." 

It happened that this boy’s Dad was one of those 
fellows who knew all about boys, so he didn't answer 
the question right off, but first began by talking reg¬ 
ular boy's lore—all about swimmin' holes, how the 
fish were bitin,' where we'd be liable to find an 
eagle's nest and a lot of the kind of things boys like 
us were interested in—you know Red, the kind of 
a Dad who just had you hanging on to every little 
thing he said and just making you wish you could 
go tramping with a Dad like that and the first thing 
I knew—before I realized it—he had me telling him 
what success I was having at berry picking. 

After I'd described my methods and told him how 
hard I worked, he said, “Son, now listen to me, for 
this applies to berry picking as well as lots of other 


77 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


things—when you go into a berry patch, you’ll find 
lots of boys running here and there looking for 
bushes where the berries grow the thickest. After 
picking a few minutes they get the idea that a bush 
a little farther down offers greater possibilities and 
they run over to it and keep on repeating the per¬ 
formance all day long. When night comes, they are 
tired out from their exertions and strange to say, 
they haven’t many berries in their pails either. Now 
the way to do—when you go into a berry patch, stop 
at the first bush you come to and don’t leave it 
until you’ve picked every berry—don’t run aim¬ 
lessly from one bush to another, but do as I 
say and when night comes you’ll find you not only 
will have a full pail many times over, but you will 
not be so tired, because you haven’t expended that 
energy of yours running around so much. In other 
words, “stick to your bush, son, stick to your bush.” 

That’s all there is to the story, Red. Suffice to say 
I took the old boy’s advice and sure enough it paid 
dividends. Now the same thing applies to selling 
goods. It’s human nature for youth especially, to 
chase rainbows and follow what seems to be the 
easiest way. When you get out of the bus in a small 
town, which has four big prospects that you know you 
can sell right along in a row on Main Street, it’s 
quite natural to go sell ’em and then go to the depot 
and catch th6 first train out, but, Red—how about 
those three little stores way down the other side of 


78 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


the feather factory, about four blocks from the 
round house? Who is going to sell them? Their 
credit is good and they’ll buy your goods if they get 
a chance. Of course, I know the argument that the 
little red devil who sits on your shoulder whispers 
in your ear — it goes something like this, “I just 
haven’t time; I’d miss that train out; I’ll pick the 
good ones and leave the little ones for my competitor 
—he has to live, etc.” and a thousand such logical 
(?) arguments, but listen boy—you know and I 
know that the fellow who listens to those arguments 
is only kidding himself. 

Did you ever sit down Red and analyze a day's 
work with one of your salesmen? Figure out just 
how many hours each day he actually spends face 
to face with a buyer? If you never have, it will sur¬ 
prise you both. Of course, I realize some time must 
be spent going from store to store, and from town 
to town, but regardless of that Red, the time you 
spend facing the buyer is, after all, the only time in 
the day that is really “productive time”—the bal¬ 
ance is “non-productive” and in addition, it’s expen¬ 
sive because you cannot make it up—it’s gone. 

The thinking Sales Manager and Salesman today 
cannot fail to recognize this, because the man who 
spends the most hours actually picking berries, gets 
paid more than the fellow who spends half his time 
between bushes. 


79 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


Give my very best to ’em the next time you have 
them in for a meeting and tell them for me that in 
selling goods this year, I’d rather be a setter pup 
that stalks the game, than a humming bird that just 
dips its nose into what appears to be the sweetest 
roses. 

Your loving 

“DAD.” 


80 


The Boy Is Given an Unfailing Formula 
for Landing a Bigger Job 

Dear Hal: 

I just put down the evening paper and came very 
nearly dropping off to sleep when your mother re¬ 
minded me that I'd better answer your last letter 
tonight while I had the time and there was no 
company around. 

I think I enjoyed your last letter more than any 
you've written recently, largely because it breathed 
a better spirit of optimism over general business 
conditions and your job in particular and I must 
say that it was the first letter you have sent me 
lately in which you were not “crabbing" about some¬ 
thing or other. 

I'm glad to see those symptoms. For the life of me 
I cannot see why a big, red-headed galoot like you, 
with a good job, a superior line of merchandise and 
a world of possibilities before you would find time to 
do anything else but figure out ways and means of 
capitalizing your opportunities to the fullest extent 
and I really believe you are “rounding to" and if so 
—if the signs don't fail me—you're just now putting 


81 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

yourself into a correct mental attitude to commence 
to really grow. 

You know, Red, the only real place in life for a 
“crab” is in the bottom of the restless ocean. Of 
course, I know they occasionally get out of that 
sphere, but when they do they generally get gobbled 
up by some quicker thinking member of either the 
fish or the human family, so there’s really no credit 
to be gained by trying to pattern after an imitation 
devil-fish. 

I've done a good deal of thinking about that 
snappy looking bunch of salesmen you’ve gathered 
around you, as I mentioned in my last letter, and 
I’ve been wondering if you’re going to turn out to be 
a good “picker” of men, or if you just happened to 
bump up against a kind Providence. I’m going to 
give you the benefit of the doubt and believe that 
you selected them carefully, with an eye to the 
future, but your responsibility has only begun now 
that you’ve separated the wheat from the chaff. 

Next to trying to build a Ziegfeld chorus with a 
bunch of knock-kneed runners-up in a cafeteria, I 
don’t know any harder job than trying to make busi¬ 
ness men and executives out of a bunch of potential 
baseball fans, pool sharks and dance hounds, but 
someone has to do it and it’s not a colossal task, Boy, 
if you approach it with the proper amount of 
tolerance and patience. 


82 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


Not so long ago, it was my privilege to accidently 
meet the directing head of one of the largest indus¬ 
tries in this country. As we chatted over our cigars, 
I inquired to what single thing he attributed the suc¬ 
cess of his company. He replied quickly, “The ex¬ 
ceptional personnel of our organization.” Being in 
an inquisitive mood and finding him a willing—yes 
—an enthusiastic talker regarding his company, I 
further inquired the method in training men for 
higher and more responsible positions in his com¬ 
pany. He replied, “Our organization some years 
back got away from the prehistoric idea that the 
secrets of each job should be locked in the heart of 
the man holding it. 

“You know, in olden times, men were afraid to teach 
subordinates for fear they would become so proficient 
that they would crowd out the one holding the good 
job. The constant and ever-increasing demand for 
men qualified to hold the highest positions has 
generated a feverish anxiety and ambition to train 
men to take the place of his immediate superior, so 
that practically every man, from the office boy to the 
president, is competing with each other to turn out 
the most and highest caliber experts and executives.” 

Waxing reminiscent, this great man related how 
one man in their organization, whose hair was now 
silvered by many winters, was the “daddy” over a 
hundred of the bigger men of the company—the 
man who chose and had trained over a hundred men 


83 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


to be capable of assuming the greater responsibil¬ 
ities of a great industry! Naturally enough our 
smoking-car conversation carried us to the discus¬ 
sion of just what was the measure of success in the 
business world and I think you can appreciate that 
I was not at all surprised to hear this man—this 
great captain of industry, whose very name in the 
business world was synonymous with great accom¬ 
plishments—say with no little show of feeling, “If, 
when I pass out of active business life, it can truth¬ 
fully be said of me that I was a builder of men, I 
crave no greater epitaph.” 

Red, that man spake a sermon in one sentence! 
Boy, the pyramids of Egypt have already been built; 
man in his wisdom has built skyscrapers, bridged 
rivers and spanned plains, yet the greatest work of 
the artisan, the noblest piece of sculpture and the 
most magnificent monument of the ages is in your 
hands for fashioning. The organization that you 
have the honor to be a part of is a breathing, living 
thing. 

If the men who serve under your direction, Red, 
are not allowed to grow—if their ambition is not 
aroused to a point where they fit themselves with 
your help to take your job, or jobs like it, you can¬ 
not hope to gain promotion. Leaving out the per¬ 
sonal side of it, if yourself and men in similar posi¬ 
tions accept your present positions with smug satis¬ 
faction and take no part in an effort to be constantly 


84 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

building, the foundation of your house will surely 
crumble as dry rot and decay sets in and your 
temple will some day fall upon your head. 

And Red, don’t be selfish to the point of being 
afraid of personal handicaps that you might impose 
on yourself. Your company needs trained branch 
house managers, district managers, sales managers 
and other executives. If they choose your right- 
hand man and leave a hole in your organization, 
don’t grouch about it—don’t complain about their 
having broken up your organization — Good Lord, 
Boy, what higher compliment could they pay you 
than to thus acknowledge that they consider you a 
builder of men? Just start in and train another, for 
the day you can honestly walk in and tell the Boss 
that you’ve trained a man who can fill your place 
better than you can, he will not waste much time 
finding a bigger and better job for you, Red. 

While I think you’re too young to really appreci¬ 
ate the pride one feels in the successes of their own 
children, you can take it from me it’s some feeling 
and I don’t know anything in this world that’s so 
closely akin to it as the satisfaction and genuine 
pleasure one derives in watching the successes of 
those men whom you have personally coached in 
their earlier successes. 

Think it over Boy! The duty you owe to your com¬ 
pany, or the world at large, isn’t at all performed 
when you have merely achieved personal success— 


85 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


why bless your heart, one graduate from Red's 
school is worth more to the company than a single 
sale of the entire output of their largest cannery. 

Fate has entrusted to your keeping as likely look¬ 
ing a bunch of youngsters as Fve seen in many a 
day. What are YOU going to do with 'em old Red 
Top? Are you going to be satisfied with just making 
good salesmen out of them—are you short-sighted 
enough to think that's all that’s expected of you? 

Mother and I were discussing these things the 
other night and she gradually led me out over my 
head in the argument. She always goes way back 
before my time and she did when she said that God 
made the first man out of a bunch of clay. The only 
come-back I could think of was, “Gee, what an im 
spiration that ought to be to Red, considering how 
much better material he has to work with." 

Your loving 

“DAD." 


86 


Hal Is District Manager Now—His Problem 
Is Winning the Respect of Men 
Dear Hal: 

Jim Baker came by the house a few minutes ago 
and showed me a copy of last week’s bulletin in 
which was the announcement of your promotion to 
the position of District Manager. Your letter of a 
few days ago didn’t say anything about it, although 
you must have known at the time. Guess you wanted 
to surprise your old Dad, eh—what? But you didn’t 
surprise me much after all, for I’ve been expecting 
something like that to happen to you for a long time. 

Well—Boy—Howdy! I know you’re proud of the 
promotion and I’m sure proud too, but I’m not going 
to do much back slapping for two reasons. In the 
first place, it makes your arm tired and the second 
place, it will not help you a bit to fill a District 
Manager’s shoes. The very fact that you didn’t wire 
me right after the job was given you is a good sign. 
I’m giving you credit at least for inherited modesty 
and if I am right in my diagnosis, I’m more proud 
still for I never knew a big man in my life who 
wasn’t personally modest and I’m happier than I 
can tell you to think that at the outset you are ex- 


87 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

hibiting the ear marks of the man I’m hoping 
you are. 

No doubt you are full of plans of what you are 
going to do in the new work and probably don’t need 
any advice from me, but I know that by this time 
you realize that it’s the old man’s prerogative to 
make a few comments in each letter, so I’m not 
worrying a bit about whether you want them or not. 

The position of District Manager is a big one—a 
whole lot bigger than some think. It’s one of those 
jobs that a fellow can make just about as big as he 
wants to and, on the other hand, it furnishes an 
opportunity for a fellow to make about as big a 
jackass of himself as the proverbial Missouri mule, 
if you don’t watch your step. 

In the first place, I hope you haven’t acquired the 
idea that the place was given you because you were 
the best branch house manager on the force; the 
seventh son of a seventh son or because they thought 
you were too big for a branch house manager. Of 
course, I don’t know how they arrived at their con¬ 
clusion, but if I were you I think I’d figure that 
probably they were pretty short of District Mana¬ 
ger material and just decided to try you out on the 
job for a few months, to see how you’d work out. 

Don’t get the idea that I’m trying to make light 
of your ability—far from it. The only reason I’m 
advising you that way is, I believe that thought on 


88 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

your part would make for a more healthy condition 
and provide more of an incentive. At any rate, the 
officials of your company, to all practical purposes, 
are “from Missouri” and you'll do well not to kid 
yourself into thinking you have been especially 
ordained a modern Moses to lead the children of 
Israel out of the wilderness. 

Of course, I know you don't think so, but I want 
to impress upon you that your new job is no sine¬ 
cure. Unless you have a perverted sense of what is 
expected of you, you'll find that your previous posi¬ 
tions were child's play in comparison. You have 
taken upon yourself a world of responsibility that 
must not be discounted. While you may believe your¬ 
self to be popular with the organization under your 
jurisdiction, it's a hundred-to-one shot that—espe¬ 
cially at first—you'll be about as popular as the vil¬ 
lage drunkard at a Sunday School Picnic. Your 
managers might have liked you as a brother man¬ 
ager, but it's only natural that they'll accept you 
only on suspicion until you've demonstrated to them 
that you're a rudder on the boat instead of a 
barnacle. 

That's your first and biggest job, old Red Top, and 
if you're smart you'll realize that although the title 
may carry some prestige, the most important com¬ 
modity you have to sell at first is—Red. Be sure to 
differentiate between the class of men you have been 
directing and those now under your jurisdiction. 


89 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


Although your managers were once salesmen— 
they're managers now. Big, broad, clear-thinking, 
hard-hitting business men. You cannot succeed with¬ 
out their respect and you haven't got that to start 
with, because you've yet to demonstrate. You can¬ 
not buy respect of these men with fancy dinners, 
too much dignity, funny stories or “old maid" tac¬ 
tics. Your authority of title or position don't mean 
anything to them. You must be first a “he-man," 
the happy medium between a “yes-ser" and a 
chronic debater, an exponent and amplifier of your 
company's policies, a happy mixture of hard work, 
tolerance, constructive suggestion and leadership. 

Don't hold that respect to be attained lightly— 
worry about it! If there’s a single manager that will 
not co-operate and the others do, it would look as 
though it were his fault—not yours, but if six out of 
the ten are luke-warm after you've been on the job a 
while, that's a condition and looks like your fault and 
is plenty big enough to worry about. After you've 
burned the midnight oil long enough on either of the 
two cases, you'll probably come to the conclusion 
that you will sell yourself to that one man, or get rid 
of him, because a balky manager—a man not in step 
with the aims of the company—the fellow who doesn't 
believe in the policies and methods one hundred per 
cent, is like a rotten apple in a barrel of good ones— 
if you leave it there long enough, it will have the 
whole barrel on the garbage wagon. But in the case 


90 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

of the six out of ten who are not working right, it 
should be obvious that it’s another case of “they were 
all out of step but Jim” so you'd better take yourself 
off to one side, hold a few star chamber sessions and 
operate on Red. You're the point of contact, Boy, 
between the officers and directors and the sales 
organization. 

During the war you heard a lot about morale, and 
morale is nothing more-or-less than mental attitude 
—point of view. Yet, morale has overthrown 
dynasties, won battles and brought success out of 
failure. The sales battle of your company will not 
be won unless it is ever-apparent in the salesmen 
—the salesmen cannot be expected to have it unless 
their managers believe, with an infinite faith, in the 
aims, policies and personnel of your institution and 
those managers cannot be expected to have it unless 
their point of contact with the dynamos in the power 
house are capable of carrying the proper voltage 
with an unbroken current, rather than be merely a 
broken live-wire that can only sputter, fuss and 
shock those with whom it comes in contact. 

Boy, this has been a rambling letter and I hope 
the things I've told you will prove entirely unneces¬ 
sary, but you're just now embarking on an uncharted 
sea. You'll no doubt run into breakers, squalls and 
stormy weather, yet, there is bound to be clear sail- 


91 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


ing ahead of you if you'll be ever alert to stay off 
the rocks of conceit, leisure and intolerance. 

Your loving 

“DAD.” 


P. S.—Am sending you that hat you won on the 
election bet. You’ll note that it’s the same size as the 
last one I bought you. 


92 


Dad Drops in on a Branch Manager 
and Finds the Spirit of the Time 
Dear Hal: 

I’ve been reading a great deal recently in the 
newspapers and magazines, particularly in articles 
relating to sales problems, about the new order of 
things with respect to this year rewarding only fight¬ 
ers. In addition to what you say in your letters 
about your own company’s activities, the bulletins and 
circular letters you have sent me, it seems that every 
sales talk I listen to, or read, bears down particu¬ 
larly on that very apparent change that has come 
about in all business in recognizing changed condi¬ 
tions and cutting your expense-cloth according to 
your result-pattern. 

You know, you sent me a copy of a letter not long 
ago written by the Big Boss himself, in which he 
said that they did not contemplate reducing their 
man power, but he said he expected you to do away 
with all incompetents; have one good man do the 
work of two mediocre ones and he intimated in no 
uncertain terms that your company had no use for 
drones around its bee-hive. 

I have been just a little mite curious to get around 
93 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


and see just how literally your organization was 
taking the instructions so I welcomed the chance 
that presented itself last week when some business 
took me out of town for a few days. I happened in 
a town, Red, in which your company had a branch 
house (not in your territory, boy, although I wished 
it were). This was what might be called a baby- 
branch, in that it has been in operation only a few 
months. Not having much to do, I dropped around 
to chat with the manager. The thing that first im¬ 
pressed me was that although it was before eight 
a. m. they were on the job and working. The next 
thing I noticed was that they didn’t have any sur¬ 
plus office furniture to loll around in. In fact, after 
I introduced myself and indicated that I was going 
to stay a few minutes anyway, they had quite a time 
finding something for me to sit on. 

A funny coincidence was, the manager was red¬ 
headed and sitting across the desk from him was a 
red-headed youngster who reminded me a good deal 
of you when you were his age. As I sat there chat¬ 
ting with the manager, I just couldn’t keep my eyes 
off that boy. Evidently he was office manager, 
voucher clerk, cashier, chief clerk and everything in 
the office except the stenographer. The stenographer, 
by-the-way, was a young man about the same age as 
the red-head who wasn’t bothered about having to 
powder his nose, fix his back hair, or go to the rest 
room every twenty minutes like some female stenog¬ 
raphers I’ve heard of. 


94 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


Both of these chaps were neatly dressed and a 
credit in appearance to the office. About nine o'clock 
Red (I'll just have to call him that) said to the 
stenographer “Come on, boy, let's go'' and both of 
them got up from their desks and went out the door. 
I didn't think much of that until a few minutes later 
I heard the clanking of chains and squeaking of pul¬ 
leys and looking out I saw Red and the stenographer 
—now dressed in overalls and jumpers—out bring¬ 
ing stock down from the third floor to the shipping 
floor by means of a chain and pulley. 

I questioned the manager and he said their busi¬ 
ness there so far was small and his entire force was 
himself and those two boys. It was, of course, obvi¬ 
ous that had he a combination warehouseman and 
shipping clerk he couldn't be kept busy but about 
half the time, so the work must therefore be done by 
his present force. I watched those fellows while 
they brought down some hundred or more cases, 
stenciled them, piled them neatly on the sidewalk in 
front awaiting the transfer wagons. When finished 
they came back in the office, picked up their office 
work where they left off and went to it. I was so 
interested in that combination that I made it con¬ 
venient to stay around there all day—I was afraid 
there was a joker in it some place and I wanted to 
see. When the transfer man came Red went out and 
helped load the goods onto the wagon. He wasn't 
very big physically—just a boy I tell you—but you 
should see him get a toe-hold on those pickle barrels. 


95 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

Why, Strangler Lewis never had a thing on him in 
his palmiest days—and smile—Red—why doggone 
it he was actually happy in that job and took just as 
much interest in his work as if he owned the place. 

In talking with the manager he got to explaining 
the different routes of his salesmen and I noticed on 
the map that there were several large towns that his 
salesmen didn't touch. When I asked him specifically 
about them, he told me he worked them himself and 
he gave me to understand that he wasn't one of 
those chair-warming “directors of sales" but a real, 
red-blooded, hard-hitting he-manager—one who sent 
in orders in the same mail with his expense account. 
It was very apparent that in addition to working the 
trade he also found time to direct his salesmen, 
answer his correspondence and be all that a branch 
manager should be. 

Red, I walked out of that branch and down the 
street and do you know what I was thinking of? 
Well, I'll tell you—do you remember that grand old 
patriotic picture of the drummer, the fifer and the 
color bearer, tattered, wounded and bandaged, but 
with set jaws, courage and determination fairly 
bristling from them — that picture's called, “The 
Spirit of '76"? Well, Boy, I couldn't help but think 
of the similarity of the spirit portrayed in the pic¬ 
ture and that evidenced by that two-fisted, working 
manager with his two combination office-men, 
stenographer, shipping clerk, and warehouseman. 


96 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


Now, of course, I suppose you've got men working 
for you who would say, if you told them about this 
occurrence, that they thought it was beneath a 
man's dignity to do the things those fellows did and 
perhaps they're right in it too, as applied to some 
places and some conditions. I know all of your man¬ 
agers cannot spend seventy-five per cent of their time 
out getting orders; I know that office managers, clerks 
and stenographers cannot be shipping clerks and 
warehousemen in addition to their other duties, but 
the big thought I want to get across to you Red, is 
that here was a place where it not only could be done, 
but necessary that it should be done if that baby- 
branch was to get a foot-hold and live, and the beau¬ 
tiful part about it all was, it was done, cheerfully, 
happily and with a determination to win just like 
the spirit that was in the minds and hearts of those 
grand old boys at Valley Forge. 

You know, one of the chief duties of a district 
manager is to be continually on the lookout for good 
timber—a sort of a scout for the Big League as 
'twere. All I have to say is—keep your eye on that 

combination. „ , . 

Your loving 

“DAD." 


P. S.—I'll bet you a new brown derby that red¬ 
headed kid will not be pushing pencils and juggling 
pickle barrels all his life. 


97 



The Boy Gets a Chance to See Himself 
as Others See Him 

Dear Hal: 

Mother and I have been sitting out in the porch 
swing all evening watching the neighborhood young¬ 
sters play ball in the street. In the bunch was one 
red-headed boy, who, of course, reminded me a little 
of you when you were his age and it was only natural 
that I got to musing a little over your experiences 
and problems and I couldn’t help wondering just 
what kind of ball you were now playing. 

After the last youngster had heeded the paternal 
whistle and laid aside his ball and glove for the 
night, the shouts died down,the street became quiet 
and Mother and I sat out there in the twilight talk¬ 
ing of you—your good points and bad points—your 
fads, fancies and pet peeves. We fell to discussing 
your qualifications for this job of district manager 
that you have had now for some time and wondering 
if you were finding it possible to control that bom¬ 
bastic, nitro glycerin, TNT disposition of yours, in 
the face of trying circumstances that I know you 
have to face daily. 

I don’t know that I ever told you, but I have had 


99 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

the privilege of knowing and studying different dis¬ 
trict managers—not in your concern, but in other 
lines where the problems are somewhat similar. I 
was telling Mother about some of the species I had 
met up with in my time and durned if she didn’t 
spring a couple of quotations from the Scriptures 
(just like Mother, isn’t it?) that seemed to fit my 
line of musing so well that I just thought I’d use 
’em for a basis—a sort of Golden Text as ’twere and 
come in and write you a letter before I forgot what 
I wanted to say. 

The particular district manager I was telling her 
about at the time, was a fellow whom I was pretty 
well acquainted with in the old days. He was a bright 
fellow, one who knew his game about as well as any 
I ever met and those in power in his company had 
every reason to expect him to make a big success. 
He was a good salesman—had more than ordinary 
knowledge of the fine points of the manufacturing 
end, had had a broad experience and was a keen 
analyst. 

This man was a likeable chap and had taken more 
than a correspondence course in diplomacy and tact, 
so there wasn’t anything on the surface that would 
indicate other than smooth sailing in his job, but 
the boys on the road who ran onto him frequently, 
soon began to intimate to their confidants that he 
wasn’t making such a success as it was thought he 
would. 


100 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


One day I got hung up on a big deal where I had 
to wait over a couple of days before I could get the 
signature on the dotted line and I accidentally met 
this chap in the dining room of the hotel one morn¬ 
ing. After he found out I had a little time to kill he 
asked me if I wouldn't like to go with him to call on 
one of the branches under his jurisdiction. I guess 
it was curiosity more than anything else that 
prompted my acceptance of his invitation, but any¬ 
way, we went over to the branch in that city and all 
I had to do was to sit over in a corner of the private 
office, read a newspaper—or rather pretend to—and 
watch the wheels go 'round. 

The first thing I noticed was a sort of new dignity 
that he assumed the minute we walked into the office 
—pleasant enough and smiling as he saluted the 
manager and clerks, but you know Red, one of those 
“holier-than-thou" atmospheres seemed to creep into 
the room like a Lake Michigan fog in late October. 
Not being familiar with the fine points of the busi¬ 
ness I wasn't able to get much from the various con¬ 
versations that I overheard during the day, but I 
particularly noticed that every once in a while the 
manager would relate some particularly good thing 
that had come to pass and invariably the district 
manager would lean back and say, “Sure, I’m re¬ 
sponsible for that!" or “Didn't I tell you how to do 
that?" or some such comment. Whenever those re¬ 
marks were made I noticed particularly that the 


101 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

manager's face would sort of lengthen and he appar¬ 
ently bit his lip a time or two, as I surmised, to keep 
from telling the D. M. that he too should share in 
the glory. 

Several times during the day while the district 
manager and manager were discussing some prob¬ 
lem, various clerks and stenographers would come in 
for a decision, or deliver some verbal message and it 
was noticeable beyond mistake that the district man¬ 
ager always answered the question, or handed down 
the decision, regardless of the fact that the manager 
was the one usually addressed. Later on in the day 
in discussing some situations they did not always 
agree on all points and mild, but healthy, argument 
arose. In such cases, the district manager invariably 
raised his voice to a high pitch, to all appearances 
lost his temper and in effect, brow-beat and bull¬ 
dozed the poor little manager into an eventual agree¬ 
ment on the point in question. 

When we got ready to leave, I know it was more 
than imagination when I noticed the look of tired 
relief that came into the eyes of the manager and I 
couldn’t help but feel a deep sympathy for him, be¬ 
cause instead of receiving helpful suggestions and 
counsel, encouragement and intelligent, collaborated 
analysis, he had only been subjected to ill-concealed 
egotism and arrogance, had been belittled in the eyes 
of his subordinates and shouted at like a coolie- 
laborer on a steamship dock. 


102 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

When I came to this place in my narrative, Mother 
just gazed out over the chimney tops of the homes 
across the street into the canopy of stars that twin¬ 
kle over you tonight, the same as they twinkle over 
us and said, ‘‘Well, Red will never be that kind of 
district manager, because he'll remember that part 
of the Scriptures that says, “He that exalteth him¬ 
self shall be abased, but he that humbleth himself 
shall be exalted" and again in Proverbs where it 
says, “A soft answer turneth away wrath, but 
grievous words stir up anger." 

I didn't have any comeback, Red; I hope Mother's 
right (she usually is) and I'm not laying any odds 
on whether you remember the Biblical quotations, 
but I am willing to vote with her on your being 
smart enough to keep from assuming that cheap 
variety of dignity that only looks good on an under¬ 
taker ; that faculty of self-effacement when it means 
the strengthening of another's position in the eyes 
of his subordinates and having the breeding to speak 
with firmness, but in a low voice, that can only make 
for respect and withal, a love—if you please—in the 
hearts of your fellow-workers that is more priceless 
than empty-sounding titles, fame, or five figures on 
the salary check. 

Your loving 

“DAD." 


103 



Dad Tips Off the Boy to a New Job 

Dear Hal : 

I got a letter the other day from an optimistic 
friend of mine out in the short grass country, where 
the principal industry is cattle raising. He admitted 
that, like all other business his particular line had 
gone through its depression, but I couldn't help but 
be impressed with his cheerfulness. Among other 
things, he told me that they had experienced an aw¬ 
ful dry spell out his way, but that the cattle business 
wasn't so bad after all. He seemed to be full of pity 
for the poor hog raiser, for he said that it had been 
so dry that the natives had to soak up their hogs by 
turning water on them before they could get them 
to hold slop. 

Somehow this set me to thinking about your busi¬ 
ness and having a little spare time on my hands I 
thought I'd drop down to the main office of your 
company to renew old acquaintances and to listen to 
the gossip. When I got down there, the first thing 
that impressed me was the pruning that had been 
going on in the office force. I didn't see any strange 
faces to speak of on my visit, but I noticed the 
absence of a good many whose duties during the war 
period were no doubt dignified by the title of First 


105 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

and Second Pencil Sharpener and Envoy Extraor¬ 
dinary to His Flipness, the Office Boy, and other 
strange and sundry nonessentials that crept into all 
offices during the period of commercial hysteria that 
we have been recovering from in the last year. 

Everybody had their coats off and were working 
under high pressure and I had considerable difficulty 
getting anyone to talk to me. I suppose it was out of 
respect for the fact that I have a red-headed son on 
the payroll, that finally got an audience for me with 
the Boss and we had a very pleasant chat. He told 
me that business was much better than it had been 
and took me down past the order desk where the old 
time activity was beginning to show again. He al¬ 
ways takes me into his confidence in illustrating his 
points and I was particularly impressed by some of 
the letters from salesman managers that were 
coming in. 

It was really amusing to a fellow like me, Red, 
who has been out of touch with the present situation 
to quite an extent, particularly his illustrations of 
the mental attitude of different managers. The ma¬ 
jority of letters he showed me were written in an 
enthusiastic, optimistic tone and recited the 
strengthening of the market on certain items and 
were accompanied by contracts for futures, as well 
as a spot business, while some few were evidently 
written by managers who didn't know that the 
wholesale grocers had taken their last fall sugar 


106 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

losses and were still devoting their time to thinking 
up fancy alibis for poor business. 

After so long a time, we got to talking about you 
Red, and I suppose he just wanted to tickle an old 
man's parental pride, but anyway he said some nice 
things about the way you were getting along. He 
told me something in confidence that I'm going to tip 
off to you, although he said you didn't know yet, but 
am sure he will not mind my telling you. He said 
that the first of next month you were to be brought 
into the Chicago office as one of his product sales 
managers. Just about that time he was called into a 
meeting and had to tell me good-bye hurriedly and as 
a result, I didn't get to find out just what job it was, 
or whether it was permanent, or just a tryout for 
you, but anyway, I went home walking on air for, 
regardless of what it is or whether or not it is a 
promotion, it certainly will be a change of base 
for you and will add to your already diversified 
experience. 

Now Red, I've spent a lot of time in my life watch¬ 
ing the antics (yes—I say that advisedly) of some of 
these product sales managers and there are several 
things I want to warn you of before you tackle the 
job. In the first place, the biggest mistake you could 
make would be to get the impression that all you had 
to do was to “direct” the efforts of the organization on 
the particular items you were following. Of course, 
you’ll have some of that, but if you think you will 


107 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


only have to dictate to a good looking stenographer, 
you're as mistaken as a republican candidate for 
alderman in the first ward. And again, if on account 
of your army experience you imagine you're going to 
be top sergeant for the general sales manager and 
let him carry the responsibility you’d better stick 
pins in your chair and come out of it. 

The only excuse for having a product sales man¬ 
ager is that the particular product in question will 
have a “daddy" in the main office, instead of having 
to be nurtured a la incubator and grow up like 
Topsy. Don't think for a minute that the general 
sales manager is going to do the thinking for you, or 
lay down a set of instructions for you to follow out. 
I take it that you're getting more than twelve dollars 
a week now and if so, they expect you to be 
“creative" and use that torch-thatched swelling on 
top of your shoulders for something else beside a 
hat-rack. 

Now get this clear to start with—everything the 
company manufactures in your line is YOUR pro¬ 
duct. Yours to sell—it doesn't belong to the factory, 
the branch house, the jobber, the retailer or the 
consumer. It’s YOURS—the weight of responsibility 
is on your shoulders from the time it comes out of 
the retort until the can is peacefully reposing on the 
breeze-swept side of the hillock in the city dumping- 
ground. If you think you can sit down and dictate 
a “pep" letter to managers and salesmen, wave your 


108 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

arms and plant Old Glory rhetorically in the azure 
blue of the heavens until some temperamental man¬ 
ager becomes so moved by your chin music that he 
orders a carload—if you think you have then accom¬ 
plished something worth crowing over, you better 
go back to calling on the retail trade. Those goods 
are yours, Red—you’ve only then started them in 
the channel of distribution and the REAL WORK 
for your think-tank has only commenced. You must 
think up schemes—selling plans—watch stocks and 
keep them moving—give advice and counsel to your 
managers—in a word, you must be the dynamo that 
generates the sell-juice and believe me, it’s your job 
to see there are no broken connections. 

There are a lot of things about a product sales 
manager’s job that can be well or poorly done, but I 
cannot begin to comment on all of them in this letter. 
Am sorry I didn’t get to talk just a few minutes 
longer to your Boss, for I’m curious to know whether 
they thought you were so all-fired good at your other 
job that they gave you this, or whether somebody 
just left the gate open and you sneaked in. 

I haven’t told your mother about this yet, so I 
suggest that you write her a letter and just mention 
it casual-like. After I get her comments I’ll write 
you some more of my observations, which I imagine 
you relish about as much as salt in your ice cream. 

Your loving 

“DAD.” 


109 



Dad Gets a Lesson from a Trip 
to the Farm 

Dear Hal: 

Every year about this time I get a sort of han¬ 
kerin' for yellow-legged chicken and striped gravy— 
you know, Red—not the kind you see on the bill-of- 
fare in the cafes which they jokingly term ‘‘spring" 
chicken, without going on record as to just what 
spring; not the kind that's cooked all in one piece 
and tastes like the pet chicken that Grover Cleveland 
raised when he was in the White House; but rather 
that old-fashioned, unjointed, juicy, tender, fried- 
brown country chicken that you're sure first saw 
the light of day about May 1st, this year. 

Well, anyway, Mother and I piled into the old gas 
buggy last Sunday and went out in the country just 
in order to satisfy that craving. You know, Red, I 
never had a particularly strong leaning toward the 
farm or anything that goes with it, with the excep¬ 
tion of an occasional visit made with the sole intent 
of just gorging myself on the good things to eat that 
the farmer always seems to find right handy without 
having to haggle with the grocer over the price. Not 
that I thought I was better than the farmer—not 
that I didn't appreciate that he was the backbone of 


ill 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


the nation, and this and that and this and that, but 
somehow or other I just never did fall for those 
poetic rhapsodies and popular songs that usually tell 
in a high falsetto how dear the old meadow and pig¬ 
pen were to the heart of a prodigal son. You know 
I always had the secret hunch that all of that patter 
was mostly bunk and was written only for commer¬ 
cial purpose to be sold to and raved over by some 
little mouse of a shop-girl that was trying to carve 
out a career as a counter-jumper in a department- 
store basement or by some lonesome hick that had 
come into the city expecting to conquer it and Cook 
County in three months and was having trouble to 
rustle shoes for himself on his salary as a bus boy in 
a one-arm chair feed-bag oasis. 

I have made the mistake of looking on the farm 
as a sort of necessary evil where they just put the 
seed in the ground every spring and then let nature 
do its worst and the reason I didn't wake up sooner 
was because I’d been stopping too much at these 
near-farms where they advertise chicken dinners for 
two dollars and have an electric piano and a toddle 
parlor just back of the dining room. 

On the way down to the place I was going, I drove 
up to a pretty likely looking farm with a big red 
barn and went in. It was a fancy stock farm and 
much to my surprise they had electric lights, radi¬ 
ators and an electric fan over each stall. They had 
some blooded cows in there that they milked four 
times a day—the attendants were all dressed in 


112 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


white like barbers in a loop shop and the only thing 
that was missing was the blonde manicurist. Even 
the pigs were washed and primped up and the thing 
that struck me so funny was that the manager in 
his conversation actually showed that by running it 
that way, it paid dividends on the investment. To 
make a long story short, I went along on my journey 
impressed with the fact that the fellow who ran 
that place wasn't just indulging a fad or hobby but 
rather was making a success because of brains and 
because he knew his business. That started me 
thinking and when I arrived at the farm that had 
agreed to feed me for a day I was viewing things in a 
new light. 

When I stretched out on the cool back porch after 
a meal that can be gotten only on a real farm—out 
there where the very sky seems to come a little 
closer, where the traffic officer’s whistle would be 
sacrilegious and the smell of burning gasoline was 
only a memory—I fell to talking business with my 
host. I found that I had this farmer business all 
wrong. True, it was a hard life and a gamble with 
the elements; true, the price of farm products had 
been taking a merry toboggan; but I found a spirit 
of optimism—a studied forgetfulness of the drab 
part of it—a highly scientific and intelligent working 
out of a problem that formerly I had guessed was 
only happenstance. My host had a reason for plant¬ 
ing corn on the north eighty and oats on the east 
quarter. The rations for his live stock were as care- 


113 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

fully planned as the contents of a baby's nursing 
bottle. In a word—he knew his business and as a 
result these minor factors of price declines and other 
annoyances were only an incident in the successful 
carrying out of a well defined plan. 

Naturally, Red, I got to thinking of you and your 
work and I wondered if you were thoroughly im¬ 
pressed with the necessity of your knowing your 
business as you have never known it before. I won¬ 
dered if you could tell the Boss if he asked you right 
quick the price your competitor was getting for 
every one of the staple products in your line. I won¬ 
dered if you had a good knowledge of which 
branches had too big a stock of certain items and 
just what you were really doing to change that situ¬ 
ation. I wondered if you considered your slow stock 
report—your Bible—and the thing to really worry 
over. I wondered if you knew how much the plants 
had of your product—just how it was moving and 
just when you should recommend a packing order, 
and then if such recommendation were made 
whether it were based on it being the time of the 
year when the raw material was the most reason¬ 
able. 

I wondered if you appreciated that the successful 
marketing of your own product rested largely on 
your shoulders—yours for the planting—yours to 
generate enthusiasm over—yours to be posted on as 
no one else in the organization. 


114 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

Coming home that night I was telling Mother of 
the lessons that the day had taught. I asked her if 
she thought that even you might not glean a lesson 
from the farmer. It was funny, Red, to hear her. 
I don’t know why except that to her, like all mothers, 
you’re still just her baby boy—either that, or else 
you’ve been practicing your salesmanship on her, 
for she thinks that you’re ’way ahead of me on the 
things I’ve been wondering about you. She actually 
believes that you could take the man that first packed 
food in cans and teach him something. Of course I 
didn’t argue with her because I never won an argu¬ 
ment with Mother, but I just made up my mind that 
I’d drop you a little note and tell you that if you 
didn’t put the old one-two on the jaw of that problem 
of yours by being the best posted man on your line 
in the whole office, that it was going to make a 
serious dent in the confidence of 

Your loving 

“DAD.” 


P. S. The only pessimist I found on the farm, Red, 
was a bull-frog that croaked at night in the creek. 
He reminded me of a certain type of salesman—he 
didn’t sell anybody anything. 


115 







Dad Tal^es an Interest in the Boy's 
Big Sales Contest 

Dear Hal: 

Since you have been sending me copies of all the 
circulars and bulletins gotten out by the General 
Sales department, as well as your own department, 
I have been kept pretty well informed as to what 
your firm was doing and planning to do and I don't 
mind telling you that I'm as interested as a kid on 
December twenty-third, in this latest stunt you're 
pulling—this national convention of leader salesmen 
campaign. 

There are several inferences that I draw from the 
literature that's been put out on it so far and I think 
I see some angles to it that may have escaped you 
and I figure you might be interested in just how this 
all looks to an innocent bystander such as myself, so 
I'm going to exercise my prerogative of comment¬ 
ing copiously, as 'twere. 

Before you get ready to tell me to keep my com¬ 
ments to myself, I want to tell you about an intro¬ 
duction I once had to a brother knight of the grip. 
It was in my early days of order-teasing that I met 
up with a prune peddler on my territory by the 


117 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


name of George Shifflett. George was one of those 
typical grocery salesmen of the old school. Happy, 
well formed, jovial, a hale fellow well met, fairly 
radiating good fellowship and, at the same time, a 
salesman plus. I was called in to a strange city, and 
before going I told George about it and mentioned 
that time would perhaps hang rather heavily on my 
hands. George sat down and wrote a little note of 
introduction to a friend of his, whom he said would 
give me an entree to anything and everything in that 
town. Although the letter was not sealed, I didn't 
think to read it, but as soon as I arrived I hunted 
up George’s friend and presented my credentials. 

His friend was also a peddler of the George type. 
He immediately opened up the letter and this is what 
it said: “This is my friend—treat him kindly and 
often.” Just how well George’s friend obeyed this 
admonition is neither here nor there, and there’s no 
use rubbing it in by referring to the customs of an¬ 
cient times, suffice to say that the only point in the 
story in connection with my relations with you is 
that in the comments I am continually making on 
your business, I am merely trying to treat you 
“Kindly and often”—not in the way George’s friend 
treated me, but I hope in a more beneficial and less 
bibulous manner. 

But, to get down to this leader salesmen cam¬ 
paign—I naturally begin first to look for holes in 
such a plan, having gone through a good many cam- 


118 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


paigns myself, but for the life of me I cannot find 
any in your plan. It’s about the finest thing I’ve 
ever seen. You know the trouble with most na¬ 
tional campaigns is that you have one house, or 
one bunch of salesmen, competing with another on a 
product on which the selling conditions vary greatly, 
one part of the country with another. But, in this 
one the salesmen merely compete with the salesmen 
at the local branch, in an effort to determine just 
what man in each class is the better salesman on a 
fairly wide line of products. I cannot think of any¬ 
thing that would create more rivalry among your 
salesmen than your plans, for the convention pro¬ 
gram that is laid out is both recreative and educa¬ 
tional and the big point that I’m sure will not be 
overlooked by the men is the opportunity it affords 
the winners to become better and more personally 
acquainted with the men who direct their move¬ 
ments and destinies. 

You know, when I used to be a salesman I looked 
on the Chicago office as being only just a little lower 
than the pearly gates—almost as unattainable and 
a place that could only be reached in the way of a 
visit by the manager and an occasional special sales¬ 
man. I wondered how I could ever be picked for a 
better job when the fellows who do the picking had 
never seen me. It took me quite a while to break 
into that holy of holies, and as I look back at it now, 
it seems I must have had a lucky star for I finally 


119 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


got in, but I had to wait a good many years and I 
didn't have the opportunity to win an introduction 
such as is planned for the winning leader salesmen 
in your campaign. 

Now Red, listen to me—the success of this cam¬ 
paign doesn't depend entirely on the amount of en¬ 
thusiasm that your department sales manager and 
the branch house managers generate. Not at all— 
they'll have the enthusiasm in sufficient quantity all 
right—just leave that to the managers and salesmen. 

This campaign will be won by one thing—plans 
—Red, that's the word—plans. No salesman is 
going to kid himself into winning this campaign. The 
fellow who wins will be the chap who first realizes 
that there has been a change come over business in 
the last few weeks. He'll have a good idea of just 
who he's gunning for and his list will include every 
merchant that has hinges on his door. He'll have 
samples and selling arguments on each of the cam¬ 
paign items and he'll not make the mistake of under¬ 
estimating the amount of goods that it's possible to 
sell each customer. Last, but not least, for the full 
length of the campaign he'll be up in the morning be¬ 
fore the proverbial rooster has a chance to crow, and 
like the sign in the drug store window, he'll “work 
while you sleep." 

Red, it's your job to lead. Are you giving those 
boys the suggestions and selling arguments that it's 
your place to supply? You know the finest compli- 


120 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

ment that can be paid you at the convention is to 
have not one, but several of those snappy winners 
slide up to you and tell you just how much help you 
really gave in those plans. 

Now, don't give me the “busy signal." Of course, 
you're busy—why shouldn't you be, but listen Red— 
this campaign is the most important thing that your 
company is putting on this year—make it your first 
and most important duty—lead 'em, Red, lead 'em! 

You know, boy, every time I think of your job and 
your problems, I'm reminded of the difference be¬ 
tween a real live salesman in a clothing store and 
one of the wax dummies in the window of that same 
store. Both are salesmen after a fashion, and the 
poor wax dummy that sits behind the plate glass all 
day is doing his best and helping to sell goods in a 
measure, but Red, you never bought a suit of clothes 
of one of 'em in your life, now did you? No, you bet 
you didn't, but the boy with the Elgin movement and 
the snappy sales argument, behind the counter 
teased many an order away from you, now didn't 
he? All right—now the thought I'd like to leave 
with you just before I take off my shoes and make 
a midnight raid on the ice-box is: 

That department sales manager chair that you're 
sitting in was never intended for the outer casing of 
a mummy—shake 'em up, Red, and make it snappy! 

Your loving “DAD." 


121 



Dad Surrenders When the Boy Lands 
the Big Job 

Dear Hal: 

For once in my life, I confess to you that I’m 
starting a letter that I don’t know how to write. 

Mother and I just finished reading your telegram 
that announced you had just been made general 
sales manager of your company. While it was not 
so much of a surprise in one way—it has been a 
long while since you received your last promotion 
and naturally we knew you would not be satisfied until 
you had climbed even further up the ladder—still, 
I am somehow differently impressed with this last 
elevation of yours than I have with your previous 
steps. 

I don’t know how I could better illustrate my 
feeling than to say that when you were a little fel¬ 
low about ten I started in to give you what I thought 
at the time was training in the fundamentals of the 
different stages of boyhood. I can look back now 
and see where I used to hold myself up to you as a 
sort of example. Yes, I’ll admit now that I used 
to paint the Old Man as being quite some fellow in 
his youth. While you seemed impressed from year 


123 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 


to year as the so-called schooling progressed and 
were interested in my teachings, I realized finally 
when your voice began to change and a peach-skin 
fuzz began to form on your upper-lip that you weren't 
a little boy any more. Altho I recognized your 
growth, not until your twenty-first birthday did I 
realize that I must needs pursue a different plan, for 
lo—my once little lad had suddenly grown to man¬ 
hood and if you'll remember I ceased advising you 
against the pitfalls that the boy must guard against 
and began talking he-man language from then on. 

Similarly, from the time you started as a sales¬ 
man for your company, until the present, I have 
taken a keen delight in listening—sometimes with a 
good deal of patience, but withal a great relish—to 
your trials and problems as they came to you along 
the same old road that I myself had traveled and I 
kidded myself into thinking, at least, that probably 
I was doing you some good by tearing pages from 
my experience in the past and applying them to your 
problems, and I never realized until just tonight that 
like the other experience, I had been so busy being a 
pal of yours that momentarily your gradual growth 
had escaped me and I must now look upon you in a 
new light—as being the equal, if not the superior, in 
experience, knowledge and acumen of the Old Man 
who's tried to tutor you along the way. 

General sales manager — Well, Boy, Howdy! My 
hat is off to you, Red, with a couple of Salaams! 


124 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

Needless to say, I knew you’d get there and again, 
needless to say I know you’ll fill the chair. 

Just for tonight, Red, now listen—just for to¬ 
night I’m going to forget momentarily your title and 
lapse into the old vein. After this, if you insist, I’ll 
call you Mister Red, or any other title you wish, but 
I just cannot resist the temptation of still imagining 
you to be the same old impetuous, impulsive, don’t 
give-a-dam Redhead who used to put wrinkles 
into my forehad, and I’m going to talk to you 
accordingly. 

No, I never was a general sales manager, but I 
know all about how the job should be run, just like 
Harry Sparks knows all about raising babies—he 
never had any. Red, did you ever see that play, 
“If I Were King”? No? Well, neither did I, but 
I imagine it’s something like the way I’m looking 
at this new job of yours. I can well imagine your 
feelings, anyway — especially these first few days 
after your appointment. 

I know you’re leaning over backwards trying to 
act natural in this new job of yours. Every fel¬ 
low who comes up to wish you well you sort of 
look over mentally and wonder if his good wishes 
have a real kick, or if they’re about one-half of one 
percent. You are painfully aware that there are 
those in the organization who think you have a 
horse-shoe in your hip pocket, while others wonder 
just how you got that way. One minute you won- 


125 


LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

der if you look and act so that no one could suspect 
a swelling of your hat rest and the next moment 
you’re wondering if the Boss doesn’t wonder if 
you’re sufficiently dignified for the place. All-in-all, 
Old Top, I’ll bet you’re in a peculiar state of mind 
and will remain so until the odor of mothballs and 
the price tag wears off. 

But, Red—forget it! You know they say that 
good prize-fighters, or the best artists on the stage 
are those who are totally oblivious to either boos 
or applause, and forget their audience in the intens¬ 
ity of their art. You’ve been handed a real job this 
time and you should have neither the time, nor in¬ 
clination, to do other than put all your energy and 
ability into it. Simply because it’s a big job, don’t 
think for a minute that you will not continue to run 
afoul of some things that will make that old red¬ 
headed temper of yours assert itself, but, Boy, you’ll 
have to handle it differently than in the old days. 

You have heard how certain supposedly big 
men when irritated used to chew up lead pencils, 
turn over the desk and go thru divers forms of 
brainstorms, but no, Red — that’s fiction — they’re 
not doing it that way this summer. Do you re¬ 
member the illustration I gave you one time years 
ago when you got all “het up” because a barber had 
made a positive appointment with you when you 
were in a hurry to catch a train and then broke it, 
so you had to let the old brush-pile stay on ? Remem- 


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LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

ber, I told you never to get mad at a man who was 
below you in intelligence and if that fellow had any 
intelligence he wouldn't have been a barber? Well, 
Red, the old rule will work in the new job—always 
let the other fellow do the getting-mad thing; when 
he does, he'll make a fool of himself; if you get mad, 
too, you're getting down to his level. 

Stick to the sales end, Red, as long as you're in it, 
at least. Don't worry about how poorly the men in 
the other ends of the business handle their duties. 
God in all his infinite wisdom has never yet produced 
a genus homo who was capable of personally direct¬ 
ing the manufacturing, selling, advertising and exe¬ 
cutive ends of any one business. True, the presi¬ 
dent of companies like yours does those things, but 
not alone, Boy, not alone. He has a lot of high- 
class men like yourself specializing and directing 
certain ends of it. Don't be too big, however, to 
detect a good idea or suggestion from those in other 
ends of the business. I once knew a great sales 
manager who got the best sales lead of his experi¬ 
ence from an office boy. 

And, Red, be human—keep away from the clouds 
—keep your feet on terra firma. From the time of 
the Man of Galilee who said, “Suffer little children 
to come unto me and forbid them not, for of such 
is the kingdom of heaven,'' great men of all ages and 
walks of life have realized that true greatness was 
marked by humility. Have time, Boy, to listen to 


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LETTERS FROM AN OLD TIME SALESMAN 

the story of a problem solved that the junior clerk in 
the department is just aching to tell you, and, Red, 
like the other jobs you have held, be a leader. Now 
more than ever before must you, by example and 
precept, be a real leader of those you captain. 

Much of your success will depend upon those with 
whom you surround yourself. Be ultra conserva¬ 
tive in your selection. It may not have occurred to 
you, but in choosing you for the big job those who 
had your selection in their power observed pretty 
carefully whether or not you had character. Char¬ 
acter is the solid foundation of all success; without 
it no great heights can be reached and kept. 

Boy, I could go on indefinitely, but I must close. 
Even now, as the realization of your present age 
and particularly your position strikes me anew, I 
feel a sense of awe. I will not write you this way 
any more—I’m done. Henceforth, my letters will 
be postscripts on the bottom of Mother's and will 
only tell of my adventures chasing a little white ball 
around a cow pasture. The mantle has fallen on 
your broad and worthy shoulders—instead of my 
telling you what to do, I'm resigned to have you give 
me the post-graduate course, for as Kipling says: 

“Tho I've belted you and flayed you, 

By the livin' Gawd that made you 
You’re a better man than I am, Gunga 

Din." v . . 

Your loving 

“DAD.” 


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